


SnaG-22

by Slybrarian



Series: Discontinuity [3]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1, Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Clones, Crossover, Episode Related, Other, Tok'ra, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-21
Updated: 2009-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-03 13:17:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 62,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slybrarian/pseuds/Slybrarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being the adventures of SG-22, newly reformed after the previous team by that designation met a messy squid-related end. Join Major Evan Lorne, team leader, Neill Jackson, undersized engineer, and Sam and Dean Winchester, utterly unqualified civilians, as they venture into the galaxy to explore and fight evil. Features Tolkien refugees, Lantean exiles and their botanists, implied pilot/pilot love, Supreme Commander Thor, and an increasingly annoyed General Landry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - In Which a Brother Waits

Dean waited.

His body wanted nothing more than to get some rest, worn down by two days with no sleep and too much worry, plus a beating that had left him battered and bruised. Four hours of panicked driving to reach Bobby's place after something literally scooped Sam up in a beam of light, six more while waiting for Ellen and figuring out the right kind of mojo they'd need to find him, another five until they reached an old abandoned cemetery in the middle of Wyoming. They'd shown up expecting to find some kind of demon, and sure enough the same yellow-eyed thing that had killed Dad was right there; only he had an entire fucking underground lair, a small army of minions, and was in the middle of pitting Sam and a bunch of other psychic-weirdo kids against each other in some kind of battle royale. All Dean, Bobby, and Ellen managed to do was get their asses handed to them, right up until the _actual_ Army showed up - well, the Air Force, and Dean knew his dad would just drop dead on the spot if he knew his boys had to be saved by that bunch. At least there'd been some Marines along to do the heavy lifting.

Dean had been glad for any kind of help they could get, though. In the firefight he'd managed to shoot Ol' Yellow Eyes dead, one last shot from the Colt straight to the heart, but it wasn't nearly as satisfying as it would have been if he'd done it ten minute earlier, before his brother took a knife to the back.

So there he was, sitting on a bed in 'guest quarters' with a locked door, deep inside some military complex located God only knows where, because they'd gotten there by some kind of freaky teleportation, waiting to find out if Sam was okay and not really caring much about anything else.

Dean wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there when the door opened and a tall, sandy-haired man in uniform stepped through. He was one of the soldiers who'd been there earlier.

"Evening," he said. "Mind if I take a seat?"

"It's your underground base," Dean said.

The soldier smile slightly and pulled one of the room's chairs over. "I don't think I had a chance to introduce myself. Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell, United States Air Force."

"Dean Winchester, but I imagine you already know that."

"That I do, Mr. Winchester, even if it took a while to sort through the fake IDs."

Dean sighed. "Look, how about we cut the crap and you tell me when the FBI's going to be showing up to get me."

"They won't be. This has gone way, way above the security clearance of your friend Agent Hendrickson. I do have to say, it's quite an interesting list of charges he's built up — grave desecration, assaults, impersonating officers of the law, bank robbery, murder. I especially like the part where you were declared dead, complete with a body. Neat trick, that."

"You wouldn't believe the explanation for that even if I told you," Dean said.

"Try me."

"Shapeshifter."

"Huh," Mitchell said, his smile reappearing, even broader now. "Cool."

"Cool?" Dean repeated incredulously. "That's it? No disbelief, no threats about locking me up forever, just 'cool'?"

"You have to admit, shapeshifters are cool, unless they start causing trouble. As for the rest, we'll just have to see what our own investigation turns up before accepting you really did all that. In our experience, it's best not to assume everything's what it looks like, especially when aliens are involved."

"Demons," Dean corrected.

"What?"

"Demons. That's what the things we were fighting were, at least the leaders. They get inside peoples' heads, take 'em over."

"Nooo," Mitchell said slowly. "Those were aliens. I can see how you'd be mistaken, though."

"Dude, I've been fighting ghost and other supernatural crap since I was four. I know demons when I see them. There's no such thing as aliens."

"You were fighting inside a buried laboratory," Mitchell said. "A laboratory full of alien technology."

Dean shrugged. "So his lair was full of gizmos. Doesn't mean anything."

"There was a _tel'kesh_-class midrange transport buried in the field next door."

"Oh." Dean's eyebrows went up in surprise. "Okay, so maybe they were aliens. But that doesn't mean the rest isn't real."

"Well that's just wonderful," Mitchell said with a sigh. He rubbed his forehead. "This is going to be one of those long, painful debriefings, isn't it?"

"Look, I'll tell you whatever you want, but would you mind telling me how everyone else is?"

"Mr. Singer and Mrs. Harvelle are fine, they're in the rooms next door. Your brother's actually why I came. He just got out of surgery. He's going to be fine."

"Can I see him?"

Mitchell hesitated, then nodded. "Sure, if you promise to behave."

"Yeah, because I'm going to break out of your top-secret base while dragging my injured brother behind," Dean said. At Mitchell's pointed look he let out an exasperated sigh and said, "Yes, I promise."

"Good. Come on."

Mitchell had the guards open the door and led him through a winding maze of corridors, with MPs trailing them a short distance behind. After a short time they arrived in a small hospital ward. Several beds were occupied, but it was only the last one that Dean cared. An Asian woman in a doctor's lab coat and another, taller woman with long dark hair were softly speaking to each other. The latter looked exhausted and held a small, round device in her hand; Dean was pretty sure he'd seen her during the battle.

"I'm fairly certain I got everything healed and hopefully there's no infection," Dark and Beautiful was saying. "If there's any trouble later, you know where to find me."

"Thanks for all the help," the doctor said. She noticed Dean and Mitchell approaching. "Colonel. Mr. Winchester senior, I presume?"

"That'd be me."

"Doctor Carolyn Lam." She shook his hand. "Your brother's in stable condition. It was a bit touch and go for a while but we've repaired the damage to his spine and intestines. It may be a few days before he's up and about, but we expect he'll make a full recovery."

Dean couldn't quite believe it, not having seen the size and depth of the wound, but if he could accept aliens he could accept a small miracle. "Good. That's good. Uh, do you mind if I sit here and wait for him to wake up?"

Lam pursed her lips and glanced at Mitchell but reluctantly nodded. "It may be a while, but go ahead. If you need anything yourself, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thanks."

"We'll see about bringing your friends down later," Mitchell said. He looked at the other woman. "I had the mess save you some desert, Vala."

"Wonderful," Vala said. "All this work has left me starving."

They walked away, although the guards remained discreetly stationed at the doors. Dean ignored them and sat down at Sam's bedside. His brother looks pale and fragile surround with all the medical equipment.

"We won, Sam," he said softly. "We may be in a hell of a lot of trouble, but I guess that's normal, and at least you're alive, right? That's got to count for something."

He settled into to wait again, eventually falling asleep himself.


	2. In Which Our Heroes Train and Meet Their Teammates

Sam checked himself over in the mirror one last time. His hair was neatly combed and freshly trimmed, his shirt and pants were pressed, his tie was in place, and the last of the bruises had finally faded from his face. Sam could almost imagine that he was just heading out to a job at a law firm or some other office job A glance out into the living room revealed that Dean was… well, Dean was Dean. He had managed to put himself into a nice long-sleeved shirt and slacks, a major change from his usual t-shirt and ripped jeans, but given how he was sprawled out on the couch chances were his clothes were already becoming thoroughly wrinkled. It was a tad bit irritating since Sam knew Dean could look sharp when he wanted to dress up, but none the less, Sam was glad Dean had at least went through the motions of acting professional despite his misgivings about their new government jobs.

"You ready to go?" Sam asked as he walked out to the living room. He grabbed his Blackberry, wallet, ID badge, and keys; the only thing missing was the comforting weight of a pistol at the small of his back.

"Yeah, just let me finish this show," Dean replied.

Sam glanced at the TV. Dean was watching what looked like either a Japanese game show involving well-endowed women or some sort of very strange soft-core porn. Sam wondered why he had let Dean talk him into subscribing to every satellite channel known to man "because we can."

"Dean, we need to be there in forty minutes," Sam said.

"And it's only a fifteen minute drive, so we've got plenty of time."

"It's a thirty minute drive, and I'd like to get there a little early."

"Fifteen."

"Thirty - maybe fifty or sixty, if you get us pulled over. Again."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch." Dean shut off the TV and climbed off the couch. He puttered around the apartment, fiddling with his hair, brushing his teeth, searching for his keys, and in general going as slow as humanly possible.

"Dean!" Sam shouted after ten minutes had passed.

"Just making sure I'm presentable," Dean said with a broad grin. "We wouldn't want to make a bad first impression, would we?"

"That's it, I'm leaving." Sam walked out the door, down the stairs, and out into the parking lot. He was almost to the Impala when Dean came running up and darted in front of him, just in time to get to the driver side door first. He had the door open and slid inside as fast as lightning.

Dean rolled down the widow. "Come on, slow poke."

Sam just rolled his eyes and got into the passenger seat. He sat back, relaxed, and didn't say a word as they sped down roads and highways leading up Cheyenne Mountain to NORAD. The trip took twenty-three minutes, even at Dean-speed, but they arrived at the complex and their assigned parking space with time to spare. A buzz-cut man in uniform of about their age was waiting for them.

"Good morning, sirs," he said. "I'm Corporal Alcott. If you'll come with me, I'll escort you through security and to your meeting."

They were taken through a security checkpoint where they had to show their ID badges and then to a bank of elevators. They traveled down fifteen levels and walked down a corridor to another checkpoint. This one was far more thorough than the last one: a palm reader and some sort of full-body scan, watched over by a technician on the other side of thick glass backed by a trio of heavily-armed marines. The machines found nothing objectionable about them, not even Sam, and they were waved through to a second set of elevators. Ten more levels down and a winding journey through identical corridors brought them to a small conference room that, were it not a thousand feet underground, would have fit in at any office building or school in the country.

Inside was a balding man in his late thirties or early forties wearing Air Force dress blues. At his side was a serious-looking woman, also in uniform. They stood when Sam and Dean entered.

"Mr. Winchester, Mr. Winchester, it's a pleasure to meet you," the man said. "I'm Lieutenant Colonel Paul Davis, and this is Major Teresa Boswell. We're with the program's administrative and legal departments. Due to the sensitive nature of your situation, we'll be handling your in-processing personally."

"Nice to meet you to, Colonel, Major," Sam said, shaking their hands.

Dean offered his own hand only a moment later. "What he said." As the four of them sat down, Dean added, "So, does 'sensitive' mean we're special?"

"Everyone in the Stargate program is special," Colonel Davis said. "However, your brother is more special than most. While everyone here at the SGC has the highest security clearance, security breaches do occur on occasion. So for your own safety we're limiting knowledge of your backgrounds to only those who either need to know or already do. At present, that means Generals O'Neill and Landry, a few key personnel, and SG-1. In all likelihood, your own off-world team will be informed as well."

Sam and Dean looked at each other and grinned before Sam asked, "So that means we're going to get to go to other planets?"

Davis smiled back at them. "It means exactly that, Mr. Winchester." He paused and pursed his lips. "Do you mind if I use your first names?"

"Not at all," Sam said. At the same time Dean said, "Yes."

Sam glared at Dean and told Davis and Boswell, "Ignore him. He's being difficult this morning."

Dean snorted. "Difficult. You're the difficult one."

"I see," Davis said, glancing between them. "To answer you more completely, Dean, you are going to be placed on an off-world team. While General Landry has some misgivings about it, General O'Neill has…" Davis hesitated a moment, "strongly encouraged him to allow it in order to make best use of your unique skill set. You'll actually be with another civilian scientist in a similar position and a military officer who will lead the team."

"Cool," Dean said, still grinning. It was the first time Sam had seen him genuinely smile about the entire idea since it had first been none-too-subtly 'suggested' that they accept employment with the SGC. Dean probably could have walked away, but with Sam more or less roped in, no matter what, Sam knew Dean hadn't had much of a real choice about the matter. "So we get to seek out new life and kill it?"

"Something like that." Davis looked at Boswell. "Major, would you like to get started?"

"Of course, Colonel." Boswell produced a pair of thick folders out of a briefcase and passed them across the table, along with a pair of pens. "You've already signed standard non-disclosure agreements, but if you'd like to discuss those further we can do so now. I can also answer any questions you have about what we'll be filling out. I also need to inform you that we can get you a civilian lawyer with the appropriate clearance to look these documents over if you feel you need outside advice."

Sam shook his head. "I think we'll be fine for now."

Boswell smiled slightly. "Good. Now, the first set here are all fairly standard military forms, modified slightly for some of the more unusual circumstances that occur here. These include medical proxies and next-of-kin documentation. We can also help you make both standard and living wills, although those can wait until you've had some time to think about them. Please fill them out as thoroughly as possible, because the medical and personnel departments will use them as guidelines when possible."

Sam started to diligently read through the first set of papers, looking over each clause before initialing them. Dean, on the other hand, seemed to just be flipping through and barely scanning what he was signing.

"Dude, 'unexpected plant-related pregnancy'?" Dean suddenly exclaimed. "Tell me this is a joke."

"That section doesn't really apply to you," Davis said. "Probably. Initial it anyways, just in case."

"Just. In. Case," Dean repeated slowly. Sam elbowed him while working through a section about body swapping. Dean huffed and did as ordered, while saying, "We better be getting paid pretty good if I need to worry about getting knocked up by a fern."

"I assure you, Dean, your compensation package is quite generous," Davis said. "You'll be starting fairly high on an adjusted version of the GS scale and are eligible for a number of military bonuses such as combat and hazard pay. There's also full medical and dental coverage, including a number of treatments not yet ready for public use, and a fair amount of vacation time, not that anyone here seems to use it."

"Full medical includes abortions, right?"

Davis closed his eyes for a moment. "Yes."

"Good."

It took the better part of an hour to get everything sorted out. There were a few more odd sections, like those dealing with resurrection and/or descension after being officially declared KIA, and a few speedbumps caused by neither of them having any surviving blood kin beyond each other. Sam put down Bobby in the end and forced Dean to do the same when he seemed ready to ignore the possibility that Sam might not be there to be his beneficiary or make decisions for him.

Once the paperwork was finished they moved on to more mundane details like pay and job descriptions. As Davis had implied, they were getting paid very well. It was more than Sam could possibly have made with just his B.A., or even started at if he had ever gotten his law degree; Dean was a pay grade lower but considering he'd been living off hustling at pool and credit card fraud, that was a rather large improvement.

"Now, in addition to your off-world activities, you'll also have regular duties here on base," Davis explained. "Sam, you'll be officially part of the social sciences division, although you'll do some work with the technology and biosciences divisions as well. Dean, your skill set is somewhat more limited, but we can work around that."

"Hey, I'm perfectly happy just shooting stuff," Dean said. "You can't tell me that's any different than any of the marines around here."

"All of the marines assigned to exploration teams are actually quite well educated, even the enlisted men," Davis corrected. "While you'll be receiving formal combat training and are free to pursue that further, we'll be placing you with our technical services division. Chief Master Sergeant Siler assures me that a trained mechanic will be useful and you can be taught some of the practical side of alien technology, even if you don't have the education to get a more theoretical grasp on how it works."

Dean crossed his arms and grunted. In Dean-speak it wasn't acceptance or refusal, just a non-committal acknowledgement. Sam wasn't too worried. Either he would put up with it for the sake of gate travel and access to really big guns, or he would love it because the alien technology was cool. In the end he would do the job.

After finishing up with Davis, they were escorted across the level to another, larger room that had been set up similar to a classroom, with rows of desks facing a table, podium, and projection screen. There was already about two dozen other people there, some in uniform and some not. There was no apparent rhyme or reason to their seating, other than obvious self-segregating clumps of civilians and military. At first it seemed like the only people near Sam's age were a quartet of lieutenants in the center of the front row, but one look at them told Sam they were probably exactly the sort of smart and eager people who would annoy Dean. Then another face caught Sam's attention at the back corner and Sam tugged Dean that way.

The young man in the back had to be even younger than Sam was, maybe even as young as twenty. He was a little shorter than Sam, tall but not exceptionally so, and thin and wiry, clearly not quite finished yet with his last growth spurts. He looked up from doodling on a notepad when Sam and Dean approached and gave them a wave.

"Hey," he said, shaking Sam's hand when he offered it. "Neill Jackson."

"Sam Winchester."

Dean reached around Sam to shake before dropping into a chair. "I'm Dean."

Neill tipped his head slightly. "Brothers?"

"Yep."

"Huh."

Sam sat down between Dean and Neill and glanced over at Neill's notepad. It took him a moment to recognize what he was sketching — a gate with a crescent moon above it, a _ha'tak_, an _al'kesh_ with a pair of gliders. Neill saw him looking and quirked an eyebrow.

"What are you drawing?" Sam asked.

"Spaceships." Neill casually flipped the page and started doodling something entire different, a Star Destroyer if Sam wasn't mistaken. "I'm an engineer. You could say this is a dream job for me."

"Shouldn't you be in, like, Area 51 if you want to mess with spaceships?" Dean asked.

"Area 51's full of idiots," Neill said. "Going through the gate's better anyways."

"Wait, Area 51 is real?"

"Yep."

It seemed to Sam that it would be a bit silly to put an actual top-secret alien research base at Area 51, given how much attention the place got from various lunatic fringe conspiracy theorists and UFO watchers. Then again, maybe that was half the point - no one would believe anyone reporting to see spaceships flying around the place.

"Huh." Dean scratched his head. "So does that mean there's really little green men?"

"They're gray. They don't wear pants, either."

"Weird."

"Tell me about it."

"Do they, you know…" Dean hesitated for dramatic effect, although Sam knew exactly what he was going to say. "Probe people?"

That gave Neill pause. He frowned and tapped his pen against the paper. "You know, I wouldn't put it past them, honestly. You should ask General O'Neill, he might be able to tell you. I hear he has a close and personal relationship with their supreme commander."

He said it so seriously that Sam couldn't tell whether he was joking or not. Neither could Dean, who shifted in his seat and laughed uncomfortably. Apparently his vision of Dean Winchester, Intrepid World-Saving Intergalactic Hero hadn't included possible encounters with aliens who might be interested in probing _him_.

There was a commotion at the front of the room as two familiar men in matching blue BDUs rushed through the door. They looked so similar that if Sam hadn't known better he might have thought they were brothers. One walked over to a fiddle with computer set in a cabinet against the wall; the other casually leaned against the podium and waved at the crowd. At Sam's side, Neill sat up just a little straighter.

"Morning, ladies and gentlemen," Colonel Mitchell said. "I'm Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell - no, don't stand up - and I'm the commander of SG-1. Apparently I'm supposed to be giving part of this orientation briefing. I'm sorry if it seems a bit disorganized, but I only found out about this two minutes ago because _someone_ forgot to pass on a revised schedule."

"I was busy," Doctor Jackson said without looking away from the computer.

"Too busy to hit 'forward' on the email?"

Jackson shrugged. "I guess I just thought it was more important to focus on finding the Sangrael and saving the galaxy."

"Uh huh. Sure." Mitchell shook his head. "So, I'm hoping that everyone here knows the basics. For the last ten years, the United States Air Force has been operating an interstellar transportation device called a stargate out the basement of this facility. It goes to other planets, which have aliens. Some are good, some are bad, some are just plain weird. We send teams of peaceful explorers through it to find cool technology and make friends, although Jackson here seems to specialize in pissing people off."

"I said I was sorry, okay?" Jackson said.

"They chased us with torches and pitchforks. That seems like more than a 'simple cultural misunderstanding.'"

"It was simple. They were just overly sensitive."

Mitchell snorted. "Right. Anyways, some of you are candidates for gate teams and some of you are support staff for either the SGC or an off-world base. Some of you are in the military, some of you are civilians. Some of you like smooth peanut butter, some of you like crunchy. What you've all got in common is that you're the best and brightest that this planet has to offer. I'm positive that you'll all play a role in keeping our world safe and making it a better place."

Jackson turned away from the computer. He pressed his glasses a little higher up his nose and scrunched his eyebrows together. "Smooth and crunchy? Seriously?"

"I'm making it up on the fly, Jackson," Mitchell said with a sigh. He took a step back and gestured to the podium. "You want to give it a try?"

"I don't mind if I do." Jackson took Mitchell's place. He looked down at a paper he had been carrying. "Hi, I'm Doctor Daniel Jackson. I'm also on SG-1 and I'm the head of the social sciences department. Some of you are probably already wondering why we have a social sciences department." He switched to Ancient. _"That's because most of you are gun-happy grunts and technology-mad geeks who think bigger explosions are the only thing that matter. Never mind that without us you couldn't even find the on button or know whether the alien is saying 'Kree, prepare to die!' or 'Your general has weird caterpillar-like eyebrows!'"_

Most of the audience looked absolutely confused, like Jackson had suddenly sprouted wings or turned into a squid. Sam laughed softly and realized after a moment that Neill was snickering too.

"Don't worry, though, you'll learn to appreciate us, _even if I have to make your life miserable first."_ Jackson smiled what Sam thought was a very evil, non-reassuring smile and rubbed his hands together. Sam was suddenly glad that he was a social geek himself.

Jackson dimmed the lights and turned on the projector. "So, you'll all get a more through briefing on the current Ori situation later, but right now I'm going to run you through a short summary of recent galactic history. First there were the Ancients, who built the gates but quite frankly aren't important to this session because they haven't done anything useful in about ten thousand years. Coincidentally, that's about when the Supreme System Lord Ra first discovered Earth and Goa'uld domination of the planet began…."

Sam listened closely as Jackson began explaining the history of the Goa'uld. He seemed to have a different idea of 'summary' than anyone else did, because he was explaining quite a bit about their influence on Earth's cultures and history without getting anywhere near recent events. Sam found it all fascinating and wished he had brought a notebook with him, even knowing that he would probably have full access to the information being presented later on. He didn't even mind that it was basically invalidating half of what he had learned while getting his anthropology degree.

"… especially interesting is the wide variety of mythological names the Goa'uld took on — assuming they did take them on, that is, as opposed to it being the other way around," Jackson continued. He was excitedly waving his hands at the slides he was clicking through, showing maps and pictures of temples and artifacts from around the world. "There's Ra, obviously, and the other Egyptian gods like Apophis, Osiris, and Anubis, but there were several other prominent system lords and underlords from around the world. There's Ba'al, a Cananite god, the Morrigan, Celtic, Olokun from Africa, Yu and Amaterasu from China and Japan, Zipacana from South America…."

The rest of the audience didn't seem quite so enamored as Jackson and Sam were. Many seemed to be slumped over in their chairs and on the verge of nodding off. Mitchell was leaning against one wall with his eyes half-shut. Dean wasn't even trying to stay awake and was now quietly snoring. As for Neill, Sam only noticed what he was doing with a piece of paper when the first airplane glided across the room.

"… although there's a distinct lack of North American - hey!" The airplane smacked square into the middle of the screen and Jackson turned around with a frown. He glared at everyone and a few people sat up straighter here and there. "As I was saying, we've never run into anyone with North American influence. It'd be interesting to find out why, although that seems unlikely to happen given that almost all of the system lords are now _dead_ false gods." Jackson smiled ferally. "There's also the anomaly in Northern Europe, where instead of the Goa'uld it was the Asgard influencing things. Now, we are slowly getting more information on that area thanks to our contact with Cimmeria and from the Asgard themselves…."

A few minutes later, while Jackson was speculating on how the ice and fire giants fit into Asgard-influenced Norse mythology, a second airplane struck him in the back of the head. Jackson turned around again and scanned the audience. Sam instinctively inched away from Neill.

"Oh," Jackson said. He glared straight at Neill, who seemed utterly unfazed. "It's you."

"No, I'm not Yu," Neill said with a shit-eating grin.

"He's been dead for almost two years," Jackson said. "I think that joke's been dead for two thousand. Give it a rest and stop interrupting or else."

Neill held up his hands. "Sorry, sorry. I'll behave."

"Yeah. Right. Mitchell, if he." Jackson stopped short and threw a pen at Mitchell, who started awake. "If he doesn't behave, gag him and tie him up."

"Oooh, kinky," Neill said, although quietly enough that Jackson couldn't hear him.

Jackson, apparently sensing that he was loosing his audience, sped up and got to the part where the SG teams started killing off snakes left and right, until their empire collapsed. He left out any mention of Goa'uld screwing around on Earth, instead going on to the appearance of the Ori and giving a brief introduction to Origin and Ori-dominated society..

Mitchell gently pushed Jackson aside at that point and gave a short but concise summary of the current situation. It wasn't pretty - there were Ori warships hopping from planet to planet converting people by force while giving a thorough ass-kicking to anyone who got in their way. Entire fleets were nothing more than speedbumps, and the only time anyone had managed to take one down it was by accident. Fortunately there were only three of them, but Earth and its allies were still falling back on every front. Sam suspected that was half the reason he and Dean were being put on a team at all, especially together. There were a few bright points, like the Antarctic defense outpost and the Air Force's Asgard-enhanced warships, but they were few and far between and liable not to be enough if the Ori made a concerted attack on Earth. The briefing drew to a close on that confidence-boosting point.

"Okay, so we're breaking up for, hell, I don't know. A tour and more orientation, I guess." Mitchell shrugged. "No one even bothered to orient me. Officers, follow me. Enlisted, with Gunny Mathias over there. Civilians, Doctor Lee is waiting outside the door for you guys. Winchesters, Jackson wants to talk to you."

Sam had to poke, nudge, and finally shake Dean to get him to wake up. They hung back as everyone else slowly filed out before heading up front, with Neill idly trailing along behind them. Jackson smiled at them as they reached him.

"Sam, Dean. It's good to see you both again," Jackson said with a broad grin. "I hope you're both feeling better than you were last time."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam said with a nod.

"My head didn't stop ringing for days because of that damned thing," Dean said. He held his hand over his face to illustrate, palm facing in and fingers splayed wide. "But it was nothin' a little beer couldn't help."

"Tell me about it." Jackson glanced at Neill. "Funny, I don't remember Mitchell telling you to stay behind."

Neill rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because I'm going to waste the rest of my day listening to Bill Lee. Not."

"I probably should have known it would be too much to expect you to follow directions," Jackson muttered.

"Ya think?"

Sam glanced between them. There was an odd hint of closeness in their body language and the way they looked at each other. Neill clearly knew more about the Stargate program than he should as a new hire. For a moment Sam wondered if they were father and son - they had the same last name, after all - but unless Neill was the result of a youthful accident their ages seemed a little too close. For that matter, Sam didn't know Jackson well but he didn't seem like the sort to leave a son behind while leaving the planet. Maybe Neill was a nephew or adopted under some strange circumstance. Maybe he was the result of one of those numerous 'in case of' clauses they had signed earlier and Neill was actually half-Jackson, half-plant.

And maybe it was none of Sam's business.

Jackson shook his head. "Anyways, I was going to give you guys a proper tour. You didn't exactly get a chance to look around last time."

"Nope," Dean said. "I do have to say, though, you've got the nicest jail cells I've ever been in."

"They were VIP quarters," Jackson said as he lead the way out the door.

"They locked from the outside," Dean pointed out. "And there were security cameras."

"Well, you know, sometimes VIP means evil alien overlord. Still, even the regular cells are pretty good. Trust me, once you've gone off-world enough you'll learn to appreciate just how nice have a bed and climate control is."

"And not being locked up with animals," Neill put in. "Remember that time on 667?"

"Yes," Jackson said flatly. "Do you even remember the definition of need-to-know only?"

"You already know, Daniel."

"They don't, _Neill_," Jackson said, stressing the name.

"They're teammates and seem like smart enough guys. They'll figure it out sooner or later anyways, even if it's because of alien truth roofies or something." Neill smirked at Sam and Dean. "Let me tell you, aliens make some great drinks, but they can have the weirdest side effects."

"Excuse me," Sam said. "Teammates?"

"SG-22," Neill confirmed with a nod. "Us three and an officer to be named later."

"Is that normal?" Sam asked Jackson. "Three civilians and one military person?"

"No, not really," Jackson slowly replied. "In fact, usually it's the other way around. Rumor has it that Landry's sticking you together because he's annoyed that he's had to put you on teams at all and wants to minimize any disruptions. He doesn't like it when he gets mysteries dropped in his lap and is told to put up and shut up."

Dean chuckled. "The boss is pissed with us before we even meet him. Story of my life."

"It's not your fault. Well, not exactly, although it would help if some people had more tact." Jackson shot a look at Neill for some reason. "It'll be fine. Once Landry gets used to you he'll mellow out, as long as you stay out of trouble." He looked at Neill again, even more pointedly.

Neill held up his hands. "I don't know why you keep looking at me. I'm perfectly well behaved."

"I'll believe that when I see it," Jackson said with a sharp laugh. "Oh, here we go."

They had gone down an elevator to Level 27 and passed through several corridors. The entire place was like a maze and while there were clear markings here and there most of them meant nothing at all to Sam. He suspected he would be getting lost frequently for the next few days. They went through a door into a conference room with a large window set into one wall.

Sam looked through the window and one thing caught his eye immediately. "_Astria porta_," he whispered. He was overcome by a sudden feeling of vertigo and would have tripped over his own feet if Dean hadn't been at his side and steadying him in an instant.

"You okay?" Dean asked quietly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," Sam said. He shook his head and took a second look. A great metal ring dominated the room on the other side of the thick glass. A ramp lead up to it, and by peering down Sam could just see a group of five soldiers gathered down on the floor.

"Cool, isn't it?" Jackson asked. "I used to just stand here and stare at it sometimes."

"I can understand why," Sam said.

Jackson checked his watch. "If you want to see something even more cool, just wait a minute. SG-2 should be leaving any time now."

True to Jackson's words, the inner ring of the gate started to spin and one by one the chevrons around the circumference locked and lit up. Finally the topmost one slid down onto a pyramid-shaped symbol. There was a loud whoosh of displaced air as a vortex shot out and then retreated, leaving a rippling blue pool behind. SG-2 walked up the ramp, not even pausing their conversation as they stepped through the wormhole. A few moments later their was an electric ripping sound and the wormhole vanished, leaving behind only empty air as if it had never been there at all.

"That," Dean said after a few long, silent seconds, "was awesome."

"I know," Neill said quietly. He was staring straight at the gate with a look of — excitement? Longing? Satisfaction? A mix of different emotions so complex Sam couldn't quite decipher it. When he finally looked away he told them, "Just wait until you go through."

After a few minutes, Daniel led them up to the social sciences department. They dropped Dean and Neill off at Daniel's office to talk about football and cars and who knew what else after Daniel extracted a promise not to touch anything, including and especially the coffee stash. Then Daniel lead Sam from office to office and lab to lab, making introductions. It seemed to Sam that with the exception of Tech Sergeant Greene, the secretary, and Nyan, an alien refugee, everyone had at least a master's degree and most had doctorates, even the military technicians who did most of the grunt work. It was a little intimidating.

When Sam mentioned that, Daniel said, "I wouldn't worry too much about it. Even a B.A. is useful, especially since we're basically making up the entire field of xeno-archaeology, xeno-linguistics, and, well, just about xeno-everything, really. If you want, though, we can get you started on a graduate degree pretty easily."

"Really?" Sam said, surprised. He had barely managed to finish his undergrad before disaster had struck and obliterated any chance of accepting the offers from a half-dozen law schools. He hadn't even considered the possibility that he might continue his education.

"The Air Force has a good distance-education system, and the SGC's got plenty of potential advisors if you need help. For that matter, given what you know you could probably get a head start on publishing." Daniel frowned and rolled his eyes. "Of course, no one will actually see any of it until we start releasing stuff to the public, which probably won't happen until aliens have killed us all… anyways. Who knows, you could be the first person with a J.D. in alien law."

Sam smiled. "Or a PhD of xeno-everything."

"Exactly," Daniel said with a grin. "Actually, speaking of xeno-everything, I know you might not be comfortable answering questions yet, but we've all got a lot of questions we'd like to… ask… about." Daniel stopped as they reached the door to his lab and put his hands on his hips. He raised his voice and said, "Didn't I say something about not touching anything?"

"Didn' say nothin' 'bout 'ookies," Dean mumbled around a mouthful of oatmeal raisin cookies.

"Eh," Neill said while typing on a laptop.

Daniel tried again. "I said 'anything', which includes my cookies and my computer."

"Eh," Neill said again. He reached for a cookie of his own and took a big bite. "You really should change your password more often, you know."

"We're supposed to be having lunch with Sam in a half hour," Daniel pointed out in a long-suffering tone that indicated he didn't have much hope he would actually achieve anything and was just going through the motions. "Our Sam, that is. Carter." Daniel frowned. "This is going to get confusing, isn't it?"

Dean and Neill looked at each other, shrugged, and at the same time said, "We were hungry."

Sam's stomach rumbled and he looked at Daniel. "You know, since the package is already open…."

"Sure, go ahead. Thank you very much for being so polite and asking permission first."

If Dean or Neill were phased by Daniel's glare or biting sarcasm, they showed no sign of it.

After lunch Sam, Dean, and Neill were once again herded off to the classroom with the other new civilians, despite a considerable amount of bitching on Neill's part. Apparently some things at government-run institutions never changed, even if the institution in question had a stargate sitting in the basement, because it was time for lectures on proper workplace conduct, confidentiality, and self-actualization, whatever the hell that was. Sam was pretty sure he had gotten most of it before while working part-time in the university library to pay his bills. The only vaguely interesting or useful part was the explanation of the emergency procedures. Beyond fire safety, they were also told how to deal with lockdowns, diseases, escaped alien animals, foothold situations, time warps, and other increasingly implausible scenarios. For the most part the instructions boiled down to, "keep your head down, do what the people in charge tell you, and if you hear the self-destruct warning kiss your ass goodbye." They were reassured that civilians being killed in the SGC itself was a very rare occurrence, as long as proper security and lab safety procedures were followed. The 'as long as' part made it rather less than reassuring.

"Dude," Dean said when they escaped at the end of the day, "if I have to sit through another day like that, I'm going to snap and kill someone. Seriously. Consider this your fair warning."

"You don't have to be there," Sam pointed out. "At the SGC, I mean."

"I do," Dean said.

"I don't think they were thrilled that I insisted they take you on in the first place. You could find another job, either here in the Springs, or maybe see if Bobby knows anywhere you could get work."

"Just because they would let me go doesn't mean I can."

"Yes, you can."

"No, I can't."

"Yes, you _can_."

"No, I _can't_."

"Yes, you can!" Sam hit his head back against the headrest and shot Dean an annoyed look. "I'm twenty-three, Dean. I can take care of myself. There's probably a couple dozen other guys my age in the program who are part of the military and in a lot more danger than I should ever be. You can find something you'd rather do and I'll be fine."

"Yeah, well, those guys don't already have a history of attracting evil aliens. You'll probably get yourself kidnapped or beat up or almost eaten the first time you step through that worm thingy." Dean grinned at Sam. "And I'll be right there to pull you out of trouble, just like always. Have I ever left you before?"

"No, you haven't," Sam said. The long gap during his Stanford years weren't worth mentioning: no need to bring up old wounds, and it was him that had left anyways, even if Dean had refused to come along.

"So what makes you think you're gonna get rid of me now?" Dean grinned again and punched Sam's shoulder. "You're stuck with me. Besides, I bet it's gonna get better. Sooner or later they're going to have to let us at the guns, right?"

They actually did the next day as part of the off-world qualification process. After a morning spent proving they were physically fit and not carrying any weird diseases, they and the other civilians were taken down to the firing range for weapons qualifications. There was a boring lesson on gun safety and maintenance, at which point they were allowed to actually touch first the nine-millimeter Berrettas the SGC issued as a standard sidearm and then, once sergeant in charge had been suitably impressed by them not blowing their own feet off, the submachine guns and rifles.

"What'd I tell you?" Dean said as drooled and tried to decide between firing a P-90 or HK MP7 next. "I'd never get to use any of these someplace else, and here I can fire them as much as I want."

"I'm not sure that's a good basis for long-term job satisfaction," Sam said as he methodically put round after round through a target with an M-16.

The difference between him, Dean, and the rest of the civilians was stark. Most of them could barely even hit the targets at all, let alone put anything near the center except by accident. Thankfully most of them weren't going to be on off-world teams anytime soon, but if the defense of the base ever required them to use a sidearm then the human race was screwed. The only exception was Neill, who had breezed in twenty minutes late, demonstrated aptitude with a sidearm and P-90, and promptly disappeared off to the land of hard (aka mad) science, radiation, and explosions once more.

"Do you think they'll let me use the rocket launchers?" Dean asked, having selected the MP7 and started firing off bursts with maniacal glee.

"God, I hope not," Sam muttered.

They made it through the day without being blown up or otherwise injured, and through the next few days after that as well. For the most part Sam spent his time with other members of the social sciences department getting caught up on ten years of amazingly revolutionary discoveries that no one in the world knew about, something that everyone in the department agreed was a crime against humanity and possibly several alien species. Dean, meanwhile, was learning some sort of vaguely useful mechanical skills in between firing guns, practicing hand-to-hand combat with marines and a Jaffa who kept kicking his ass, and supposedly impressing various girls in uniform. Sam rather doubted the last was true, or at least he hoped that the Air Force had better standards than that.

Finally, after two weeks, they were cleared to go off-world to the Alpha Site to begin a new round of training as a team. After a few initial survival lessons - "how to set up a tent and not burn down the forest when cooking", as Neill described it in the locker room that morning - they would be meeting their leader.

"Why does it spin?" Dean asked as they and a dozen others waited for the gate to engage. They were dressed in BDUs and had backpacks with extra gear, but much to Dean's disappointment they hadn't been issued any weapons — or at least any beyond the knife Dean had 'liberated'.

"You've got me," Neill said.

"Aren't you supposed to be an engineer?"

"Not that kind. But if you want me to guess, I'd say it's because of…" Neill paused and waved his had vaguely in the air. "Magnets."

"Magnets," Sam repeated.

"Yep. It spins, which creates a magnetic field, which creates a wormhole. Simple, really."

"Huh," Dean said. "Cool."

"That's not how it works at all," Sam pointed out. "Which you would know, if you'd actually read any of the background material they've showered us with."

Neill and Dean looked at each other, then at Sam. Neill said, "Where would the fun in that be?"

"Yeah," Dean said, "and besides, I've been busy with training and… stuff."

"God, we're screwed," Sam groaned quietly. He resigned himself to dying a painful, preventable, and likely very embarrassing death sometime in the near future. Dean would probably accidentally shove him backwards through a wormhole or Neill would electrocute them all because he didn't recognize what an alien outlet looked like.

"Is he always like this?" Neill asked.

"Pretty much, yeah," Dean answered. "I don't think he's ever happy unless he has something to bitch about."

Before Sam could reply, the gate kawooshed open. It was every bit as cool to watch as it had been the first time. Here and there a few of the other gasped and flinched away. After a moment a voice over the loudspeaker said they were clear to go through and they began to file through one or two at a time.

Sam stopped just short of the event horizon. "This is amazing." He touched the horizon and grinned. "I wonder why it ripples like that?"

"No idea," Neill said behind him. "You're blocking traffic, you know."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm about to leave the planet for the first time. I think I'm allowed to take a moment and — hey!" Sam was shoved from behind and stumbled forward and right through the wormhole. He came out the other side and after taking a few steps turned around to glare at Neill and Dean, who followed him through. "Which one of you did that?"

"He did," they said.

Sam said nothing but started plotting his revenge on them both.

The Alpha Site wasn't very different from the SGC, in that it was also an underground bunker buried under a mountain. For that matter, the exterior wasn't all that different from Earth. There were trees and rocks, rocks and trees, and for variety, trees and rocks and _water_. It could have been any of the dozens of temperate forests that Sam and his family had tramped through while hunting down some sort of evil person-eating creature that lurked in the woods and gobbled up unwary campers. Well, okay, there was a difference right there - no person-eating creatures. According to the lecture Colonel Reynolds had given them all before shoving them out the door for the night the only potentially dangerous thing that anyone had spotted in the area was a species of bobcat. It was a testament to how strange Sam's life was that so far he had encountered more ravenous aliens on Earth than on his first alien planet.

At the moment, Sam and the other new civilians were camped out in a clearing a little under a mile from the base's main entrance. They were supposed to be learning how to properly set up a campsite under the watchful eyes of a couple of airmen before spend the night 'roughing it'. He, Dean, and Neill had gotten their tents set up on the high end of the clearing and dug a fire pit. Most of the others were still trying to read the directions for the tents.

"So this is exciting," Dean said they stood around and watched a pair of engineers get tangled up with a tarp. His face and tone made it clear that he would much rather have been sitting back home watching the knitting channel, or maybe gouging his eyes out.

"Yeah, it's a barrel of monkeys," Neill said.

"Come on, guys. It's an alien planet, it's great," Sam said half-heartedly. "I mean, there's… um. Two moons!"

"Tiny-ass moons," Neill pointed out. "Sitting around watching these morons fumble about stopped being entertaining after five minutes. Wanna go fishing?"

"Fishing?" Sam echoed, not sure he had heard right.

"Fishing. You know, using a hook, some bait, and some line to catch a fish?" Neill eyed him suspiciously. "You can't possibly have been so deprived as kids that you don't even know what fishing is."

Sam's own eyes narrowed just a moment before he wrote it off as Neill accidentally hitting closer to reality than he realized. "I know what fishing is."

"Boring, for one thing," Dean said.

"More boring than staying here?" Neill asked.

"Are we even allowed to leave camp?" Sam asked. When they both looked at him incredulously, he rolled his eyes and held up his hands. "Okay, no one told us not to, but if we get eaten by a mutant bass or something it's your fault."

They weren't eaten by mutant bass. In fact, there didn't seem to be bass at all in the pond that they stumbled across, or any other fish for that matter. When Sam questioned this - Dean being too busy napping under a nearby tree - Neill just grinned, shrugged, and said that the fish themselves were entirely beside the point of fishing.

The next morning they were brought to a conference room to meet their team leader. Colonel Reynolds, who for some reason refused to meet Neill's eyes, quickly introduced him as Major Tom Whitfield. He was a fair-haired, almost baby-faced man who was otherwise unremarkable except for the way he occasionally twitched.

'Occasionally' meant 'constantly' in this case.

"It's great to meet you," Whitfield said with a twitch. "Really great. Wonderful. Glad to have a new team, yep." He twitched again.

"Really," Neill said flatly, while Sam and Dean exchanged incredulous looks.

"I'm sure you guys will get along great," Reynolds said quickly. "Oh, hey, look at the time. You should get going for the orienteering course."

The orienteering course, meant to cut down on the chances of people getting lost off-world, was so simple that any of them could have done it in their sleep and only took any time at all because it involved a lot of hiking. That left plenty of time for talking and getting to know each other.

"So, have you been on an off-world team before?" Sam asked Whitfield as they followed a mountain stream toward the next waypoint.

"SG-19," Whitfield replied. He blinked his left eye rapidly several times. "I was with them for a year and a half. Only left them a month ago."

"Nineteen," Neill said. "Lieutenant Colonel Siegel? She's a good officer."

"The best," Whitfield said with a genuine smile.

"You guys get a lot of action?" Dean asked. "You know, battling alien invaders, rescuing captive princesses, that sort of thing?"

"Not really, no," Whitfield said. "We mostly did geological surveys, looking for naquadah and trinium. It was nice and peaceful, really, except for a couple little altercations with locals." He twitched. "None of which ever resulted in anything more than some bruises, thankfully. The worst that ever happened was that time Smitty fell down an abandoned mineshaft and broke his ankle." He shivered, hesitated, and added, "And that time we got stuck in a cave for a week because of a blizzard."

"Oh," Dean said, disappointed. "I was hoping for some epic battles between good and evil."

"That mostly happens to SG-1," Whitfield told him. "Which makes me glad. Most people, if they go up against System Lords or Priors, they end up with dead teammates. And not the kind that get up again later. Well, except a month ago when those plants killed SG-15 and turned them into zombies."

"Zombies?" Dean's eyes lit up. "Zombies are cool."

"Zombies are not cool, Dean," Sam said.

"Are so."

"Are not."

"Are so."

"If they're so cool, why were you screaming like a little baby the last time we saw some?"

"Dude, that wasn't me screaming. It was totally you. Me, I was calm and cool as a cucumber the entire time."

"Right up until one grabbed your ankle."

Dean shook his head. "He's just making shit up, guys. It takes more than some rotting undead to make me freak."

Neill wasn't paying attention and was instead muttering under his breath, "Blizzard, nineteen, blizzard, nineteen… aha." A sly grin appeared on his face. "Hey Major, mind if I ask a question?"

Whitfield nodded rapidly. "Sure, go ahead."

"Why'd you leave your team?"

"Oh. Um. Yes. Ah." Whitfield nervously scratched at the back of his head. "Well, we had some downtime after the blizzard thing, and then General Landry suggested that maybe it would be a good time to give me a shot at leading my own team, so here I am."

"Blizzard thing?"

This made Whitfield shiver and twitch at the same time. "We were scouting out a planet with… SG-13. A blizzard hit, we got trapped in a cave a dozen miles from the gate. It wasn't too bad, we had plenty of food and water and fuel for out camp stove."

Sam nodded. "I guess there's no Weather Channel for alien planets. At least you had shelter."

"Yep! Shelter, nice dry and warm and enclosed shelter," Whitfield said. He had a forced grin on his face. "A bit small for ten people, but it was better than freezing to death! Really! Much better!"

"Ooookay," Dean said.

"How about those…" Sam tried to think of what the name of a local football team was, or if there was a team at all, and failed miserably. "That Academy football team?"

"Yeah, freezing to death would be unpleasant," Neill said without even looking in Sam's direction. "Although getting trapped in a cave for a week with Dave Dixon could be pretty bad too, especially if he had any of the chili MREs to eat."

"It," twitch, "was, "twitch, "fine!"

"And if he started telling stories, like that one about Nine Thirty-Eight —"

"Gah!" Whitfield said, and with that he collapsed on the ground and curled up in a ball.

After a minute of stunned silence, Sam said, "Dude, Neill, I don't know what you just did, but it was seriously not cool."

Neill scratched behind his ear. "Yeah, I wasn't quite expecting that."

Dean cautiously poked Whitfield with his foot. "I think you broke him."

"Dean!" Sam snapped.

"What?"

"Don't do that!"

Dean made a face and repeated under his breath in a high-pitched whine, "Dean, don't do that."

Neill crouched beside Whitfield. "Major, is there any chance you could snap out of it and stand up, or are we going to have to carry you back to base?"

Whitfield just whimpered and whispered, "The smell, oh god, the smell!"

For some reason, Reynolds was neither surprised nor amused when they showed up back at the main entrance with Whitfield on a makeshift stretcher. Once the major had been sedated and wheeled off to the infirmary, Reynolds glared at the three of them in turn, gaze eventually settling on Neill.

"What did you do to him, Jackson?"

"Me?" Neill said with an innocent look. "What makes you think I had anything to do with it?" When Reynolds didn't say anything but just glared for a minute, Neill shrugged. "I only asked him about his last mission. How was I supposed to know it was so traumatic?"

"That's it," Reynolds said. "Really."

"Yep," Dean confirmed.

"More or less," Sam said reluctantly.

Neill added, "Also, I'd like to point out that if he's so unstable, he shouldn't be on a team."

"This was supposed to be an easy assignment for him," Reynolds said. "A good way to get him back on his feet."

"What he needs is a vacation on a tropical island and a therapist."

Reynolds sighed. "Yeah, but try telling Landry that. Go finish the training course and try not to kill anyone. We'll have a replacement leader for you tomorrow."

Somehow, they managed to trade down with the next choice. Major William Grady, USMC, could have been in any movie that called for a grizzled, no-nonsense Marine. His hair was buzzed, his jaw was square, and he was built like a brick house.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," he said when they assembled the next morning. "It is a pleasure to meet you all. I want to say right off the bat that while I realize you're all civilians, I intended to hold you to the exact same standards I would any of my other men. This operation is vital to the security of our planet and while we may not be one of the main first-contact teams that does not mean there is any room for slacking. I have the utmost confidence that, even if you can't meet my standards now, you will be able to by the time I'm done with you. If that's a problem, I suggest you reconsider being on this team. Understood?"

Sam had run into more than one hard-ass like Grady before, and under normal circumstances he would have just rolled with it. Grady would probably loosen up a bit after it was clear he hadn't gotten saddled with a bunch of helpless civilians, and if not then putting up with him would just be the price of going off-world. However, when Sam saw Dean sit up straighter and say, "Yes, sir," Sam decided that maybe he wasn't going to roll with it after all. The last thing he wanted was for Dean to fall back into his old good little Marine ways, because Sam had put up with enough of that bullshit in his life already.

When Sam glanced across the table, he saw that Neill wasn't looking any more thrilled than he was. He had an annoyed frown on his face and was somehow managing to slouch even more than he had before. He caught Sam looking at him and rolled his eyes.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Jackson?" Grady barked.

"Oh, no, sir, not at all," Neill said. "I'm very glad to have a _soldier_ of your obvious caliber here to lead us."

From Grady's expression, Neill may as well have thrown an egg at his face by using the S-word. "I'm a Marine, son, not a soldier."

"Sorry, I didn't realize there was a difference."

"Just try to remember it. Now, we're going to start off by heading outside so I can assess where you stand with regards to your physical fitness."

'Assessing' meant running up and down the mountain the Alpha Site was built under. If Sam went a little slower than he could have and ended up huffing and puffing more than necessary, well, it wasn't like Neill wasn't doing the exact same thing. His accuracy with his sidearm took a sudden plunge, although he couldn't bring himself to actually miss the target like Neill was doing. All that seemed to do was just confirm to Grady that non-Marines were useless, which wasn't quite the point but served to annoy him none the less. Blatant disregard for proper military protocol, over-use of the name 'Billy', and dropping the word soldier a few more times got Grady's teeth grinding in an amusing manner. Neill turned out to be surprisingly well-versed on mythology from around the world, and he and Sam managed to chatter loudly about that for a good hour as they hiked around the forests, before turning to increasingly pointless and inane topics like the latest Internet memes. It was when they ventured on into science fiction and Neill made the observation that the new Doctor was hot that they finally hit pay dirt.

"Gentlemen, how about we change the subject," Grady said, looking over his shoulder to fix them with a steely glare. He had been trying to ignore the two of them, instead choosing to talk with Dean about the positives and negatives of the automatics the SGC carried.

Neill paused, studied the major's back for a moment, then grinned. "Sure thing, sir. So Sam, how long have you been in the Springs?"

"Just a couple of weeks. Why?"

"I bet you haven't had a lot of time to get out on the town, right?" Neill waited until Sam shook his head before continuing. "I thought not. When we finally get back on Earth, I should take you out and show you around. You'd be surprised how active the nightlife is even with all the fundies crawling around. We could hit a few clubs, find us a couple hot guys, and get ourselves laid."

Sam stared at Neill for a moment, unsure where the hell that statement had come from, but then he caught on and grinned. "Sounds nice, although I'm not really into the club scene."

"Ah. Figures you'd probably be looking for someone a little more quiet and bookish. I know a few nicer places." Neill bumped his shoulder against Sam's. "Or we could skip the finding hot guys thing and head straight to my place."

"Mmmm, tempting," Sam said with a low, thoughtful tone. "Buy me dinner first and I might even put out on the first date."

At that point Grady stopped in place, wheeled around, and snapped, "Mr. Jackson, Mr. Winchester, this is neither the time nor the place to be discussing this. It is completely… inappropriate."

Neill smiled like a cat playing with a mouse. "We're just talking about our weekend plans, sir. It's nothing I haven't heard other guys doing."

"I don't care what other guys are doing. If I say it's inappropriate, that means you should keep your mouths shut."

Neill looked at Sam. "You know, I bet it's the gay thing that's bothering him."

Sam nodded. "It could be. Major, I realize that there's rules for soldiers about that, but we're civilians."

"That is _not_ the problem," Grady growled. He was scowling fiercely and his face was slowly growing red. "What you do on your own time is none of my business, but civilian or not you are taking part in a military operation as part of a military organization, and you will conduct yourselves according to proper military standards."

"Huh." Sam scratched the back of his head. "You know, if it bothers you this much, I'm surprised you took an assignment like this. It must make dealing with some of our allies really difficult."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh. I guess you didn't know that the Jaffa have that entire Theban band thing going on," Sam said with a frown. "Most of them believe that sexual bonds between fellow warriors increases their strength as a fighting unit."

"You're lying," Grady bit out.

"No, it's true. It's really pretty interesting, actually. There's several variations on the theme. The Jaffa of Apophis, for example, encouraged sexual relationships between mentors and their apprentices. I've been talking with Doctor Jackson about it and he said that Tea'lc and Master Bra'tac are quite close because of it."

That seemed to shock even Neill, who boggled and stared at Sam with wide eyes. Grady also gaped and his face was turning from red to purple. Dean just looked confused.

"Not that this isn't nice and all, but since when do you do guys?"

"Since he met me," Neill said.

Sam elbowed him in the side and rolled his eyes. "Since always, not that you've paid any attention." To be fair, there hadn't exactly been anything for him to pay attention to, since Sam hadn't exactly been getting a lot of hot guy-on-guy action anyways. Or action period.

"Really," Dean said, doubt tinging his voice.

"I'll prove it," Neill said.

Without any further warning, he turned to Sam, reached up to cup the back of his head, and pulled him into a kiss. It wasn't just a peck on the lips; no, it was hot and wet and there was tongue. After a startled moment Sam got with the program and kissed him back. Neill's free hand started to find its way down Sam's back and to his ass, but just when Sam thought he was going to slide it into his pants Neill broke the kiss off and stepped back, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

"Uh…" Sam said dumbly. He barely noticed as Grady stormed off in a huff and Dean stood there dumbstruck. He felt completely tongue-tied and eventually said the first thing that came to mind. "That was unexpected."

"I hope you didn't mind," Neill said with a smirk.

"No, not at all," Sam replied. He could use more random kissing, although it was probably a bad idea to be doing it on an alien world and with a teammate, or anywhere Dean could see. Sam could already imagine the ribbing he'd be getting later.

"So… the Jaffa?"

"Well, it depends on whose Jaffa you're talking about," Sam said. "They've actually got quite a varied set of cultures based on who they originally served. Apophis didn't really seem to care what his Jaffa did sexually. The Morrigan, on the other hand, had a tendency to show up at summits or other… well, social events probably is way too friendly a term, but she'd show up with her servants in what looks a lot like leather bondage gear and put on shows."

Casually, Neill said, "You know, I've been wondering how you know so much about the snakes."

"Just studying Doctor Jackson's notes," Sam said equally casually. He quickly changed the subject. "I suppose we should head back. We seem to have lost another leader."

"Yeah, assuming your brother's brain has turned back on."

Dean held up his hands and grinned. "I'm good, I'm good. It's about time, Sammy."

"Don't start," Sam said. He started to walk in the direction of the base and the others quickly fell in on other side of him.

"The guy thing's a bit surprising," Dean said with a grin, "but I guess if the girls are all being driven off by your ugly face you have to settle for what you can get."

"That's nice, Dean," Sam replied, refraining from pointing out that he could get plenty of girls if he wanted to be a gigantic man-whore like Dean was.

"He's a bit scrawny, though, don't you think?"

"Who are you calling scrawny?" Neill growled.

"You."

"I don't think a midget has much room to talk about people's sizes."

"Hey, I'm not a midget! I'm a perfectly normal height. It's you two who're overgrown giants."

Sam sighed and tried to ignore them the best he could for the rest of the walk back.

Reynolds only looked mildly exasperated when he dropped by the rec lounge that evening. "I'm sure you'll be surprised to know that Major Grady has requested a transfer out of the SGC."

"Shocked," Neill said without even looking away from the DVD they were watching. "Your screening sucks, by the way. If we'd run into a situation like the one on One-Nine-Seven, he'd have gotten us all killed."

Reynolds winced. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

"No big deal," Neill said magnanimously. "Bad apples get through from time to time."

"It would have been nice if you'd just reported your concerns through proper channels."

"But this way was so much more fun!" Neill protested. He elbowed Sam. "Wasn't it?"

Sam blushed and ducked his head. "Yeah, sure."

"Just keep it in mind next time," Reynolds said.

The next candidate, Major Aaron Schnook, walked into the conference room and took one look at Neill, who grinned at him and said, "Hello, _Schnook_." If Sam hadn't been watching carefully, he wouldn't have seen Schnook deliberately trip over his own feet and fall with his arm outstretched.

"God damn it," Reynolds said after Schnook was placed on medical leave for a broken arm. "Is this really necessary?"

"Hey, you guys are the ones who keeps putting incompetent loons on my team," Neill said with a satisfied smirk.

"It's not your team! It's supposed to be their team!" Reynolds sounded like he was almost pleading. It was an absolutely absurd image, a forty-odd-year-old Marine colonel begging someone barely out of his teens to act better.

"I'll stop as soon as Landry stops scraping the bottom of the barrel."

"He's been really busy lately with the Ori and what's going on in Atlantis. He's got bigger things to worry about than finding the perfect leader for one second-string SG team that he already dislikes. You know that this is just going to make him even more annoyed, right?"

"Yep."

"Christ." Reynolds ran his hand through his thinning hair. "I should have known something like this would happen."

Neill grinned broadly. "Yep."

Reynolds sighed and walked off while muttering under his breath how he was going to shoot someone named Jack the next time he saw him. Neill chuckled and continued to watch the movie.

"I wonder if we'll get a chick this time," Dean said as they sat in the conference room yet again two days later. By then they had essentially completed the entire outdoors and survival skills course, despite still having no leader. "Wouldn't that be cool?"

"You'd end up getting yourself shot," Sam said.

"I would not."

"Yes, you would. You'd try to hit on her and say something insulting, and then she would kick you in the nuts. I doubt anyone who's commanding an SG team would put up with you any longer than that hunter in Des Moines did."

Neill nodded. "Trust me, unless you're sure you can look more than skin deep, you're better off safe than sorry."

"I can look more than skin deep!" Dean protested. "Military women have all sorts of other attributes I can appreciate, like ass-kicking ability. And hey, some of them build bombs and stuff, that's cool."

"I'm afraid you're out of luck," a wry voice said. A stocky man in BDUs entered the room and dropped into a chair. "Major Evan Lorne. I'm your new team leader."

"Howdy," Dean said, while Sam nodded and said, "Morning, sir."

"Huh," and a curious look were Neill's only reply.

"I'm looking forward to working with all of you," Lorne went on. "Even you, Neill. I hope you guys don't mind if I stick with first names, because with the Winchesters it could get confusing."

"Not at all, Major," Neill said.

"Cool."

"I do wonder what you meant by 'even me', though."

"Oh, I've been warned about you specifically. Something about you leaving a trail of shattered officers behind you."

"I don't know that I'd say shattered," Neill said. "Cracked, perhaps. Maybe slightly dented."

"Well, however you want to phrase it. Luckily I've come prepared."

Neill inclined his head. "How's that?"

"I called in a few favors. At first, I was told to tell you to behave or what happened on P1X-598 would become public."

The tips on Neill's mouth quirked upwards. "Interesting, but I don't see how that would affect me," he said, stressing the last word. "Other people might be annoyed, though."

"That's what I thought, so instead I'm supposed to say that video footage exists documenting what occurred on May 3rd this year."

Neill froze like a startled rabbit and he paled ever so slightly. That only lasted a moment before he relaxed again. "Sounds like I need to have a word with Daniel about privacy."

"Excuse me," Sam said, "but are you trying to blackmail him?" He was pretty sure that was against Air Force regulations, not to mention more than a little rude and morally dubious.

"Yes, I believe I am." Lorne nodded and smiled. "Nice way to start a team, isn't it?"

"It certainly earns points for creativity," Neill allowed. "Aren't you supposed to be in Atlantis?"

Lorne's smile slipped. "The Ancients returned and kicked the expedition out of the city last week."

"Oh." Neill grimaced. "Fucking Ancients."

"Exactly."

Sam spent the rest of the day waiting for something to happen, but other than their team completely massacring the other new teams in a series of intar-equipped live fire exercises nothing did. Lorne came out of it without breaking down into a gibbering wreck, exploding in anger, hurting himself, or do anything else beside act like a competent and good-natured commander. Neill, surprisingly enough, behaved himself. Either the blackmail material Lorne had on him was extraordinarily effective, which Sam rather doubted, or Neill was genuinely content to at least give Lorne a chance.

Late that evening, they finally gated back to Earth. As exciting as it had been to leave the planet for the first time, by then Sam was definitely ready to get some sleep in his own bed and eat something that wasn't either an MRE or cooked in batches suitable for a hundred people. Unfortunately, it turned out that what they had at home wasn't much better.

"Dean?" Sam called, while poking about the refrigerator.

"Yeah?" Dean yelled back from the living room.

"I thought you said you cleaned out the fridge!"

"I did!"

"Then why is there chunky milk in here? And I think this casserole is about to invent fire." When there wasn't a reply, Sam shook his head and opened up the freezer to get the stew he'd stored so they'd have something when they got back, while muttering to himself, "Christ. It's not aliens that are going to kill me, it's food poisoning."

Then he grinned to himself, because, well - _aliens_. Potentially murderous ones that wanted to enslave mankind, but still. If Sam couldn't have the normal life he wanted, he supposed he could do worse than exploring other worlds.


	3. In Which Our Heroes Experience Botany First-Hand

Working for a top-secret government project was remarkably like what Sam had imagined working for a law office would be like. There was a great deal of research to be done as well as obtuse documents written in esoteric language to decipher while drinking a large amount of coffee. The main difference was that occasionally loud alarms would sound, red lights would flash, and heavily-armed men would rush around the hallways. The work was really quite fascinating and he would have been perfectly happy to keep at it forever. On the Friday morning following their return from their so-called training course, Sam was with Nyan the Alien in a linguistics lab studying a set of tablets that SG-18 had brought home.

A little after ten o'clock, Major Lorne sauntered through the door and came over to the workbench, looking pleased with himself. He leaned over Sam's shoulder and peered at the tablets.

"Hey Sam," Lorne said. "What are you working on?"

"Well, that depends," Sam replied. He gestured to the tablets and the notepads beside them. "These might be describing an alliance between a pair of Goa'uld and how that alliance will allow them to grow powerful, defeat their enemies, conquer the galaxy, the usual stuff."

"Or it might be badly written pornography," Nyan said. "It can be hard to tell. You see, the Goa'uld words for victory and conquest are very similar to ones used for certain types of sex, with the difference largely being exactly where you put kree in the sentence. This part here is talking about how mighty Runesocesius will wield his most impressive weapon to —"

"You know what? Never mind. I don't want to know." Lorne shook his head. "We've got a mission briefing in fifteen minutes."

"Really?" Sam said in surprise. As much as he enjoyed what he was doing, he thought it was high time they got to go off-world for real.

"Yep." Lorne grinned. "SG-12 was supposed to take this one, but they got waylaid with something else and we're the only qualified team with a clear schedule."

"Cool. Give me a second to get ready. Is there anything I should bring?"

"Just your brother. If you wouldn't mind getting him while I try to hunt down Jackson, I'd appreciate it."

"Sure thing."

Lorne left and Sam looked at Nyan, who waved him toward the door. He paused just long enough to grab a fresh notebook and a pen before taking off down the hall to the elevator. He checked each of Dean's usual hideouts, starting with the mess and moving on to the gym and the firing range. The technical support areas were his next stop, and that was where he eventually found his brother's legs poking out from underneath a FRED. Sam could hear the whir and clink of tools and Dean was tapping one foot to the beat of barely-audible music.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said. His brother didn't reply, and Sam repeated more loudly, "Dean, we've got a mission."

Dean went right along tapping and showed no sign of moving. Maybe he couldn't hear Sam, or maybe he was ignoring him just to be annoying. Sam would bet on the latter, because Dean was usually observant of his surrounding and had a tendency to be about as mature as a ten-year-old.

Sam sighed, shook his head, and poked Dean's leg with his foot. "Dean!"

"Fuck!" There was a thump under the FRED and then another, "Fuck!" Dean wiggled out from under the machine, pulled earphones off, glared at Sam. "What the fuck, Sam?"

"Uh, sorry?" Sam replied, trying not to smile.

"Yeah, right." Dean rubbed his forehead gingerly. "You need something, or are you just here to be an annoying little shit?"

"Major Lorne sent me to get you," Sam replied. "What are you doing?"

"Replacing this thing's motors," Dean replied. He climbed to his feet and patted the FRED. "Me and Corporal Jenkins, we were thinking -" Sam snorted. Dean scowled at him more. "- about how sometimes SG teams need more fire support. So we said, hey, we've got the MALPs and FREDs already, why not use them for some fire support? We're going to replace the motors so it can go faster and then stick some mounting rails on top. We figure we can fit a fifty-cal on it, or this big-ass plasma thing that one of the geeks is working on, maybe a mortar too. Then someone can ride it around and totally massacre the bad guys."

Sam eyed the FRED. It was a rectangular, boxy machine that was about as non-threatening as something could get. "Huh."

"Huh? I'm building a miniature tank and all you can say is 'huh'?"

"It sounds… awesome." If awesome meant doomed to failure. Sam would give the thing all of two minutes before a stray shot went straight through its unarmored side and made its guts explode.

Dean shook his head and covered his eyes. "Christ, sometimes I wonder if you're really my brother. Honestly, who wouldn't like a mobile death platform?"

"No, really, it's a great idea, in theory. It just needs some work." Sam jerked his thumb at the door. "Anyways, we need to get down to the briefing room. The major says we've got a mission."

Dean's scowl was instantly replaced with a broad grin. He hurriedly ducked down to clean up his tools while saying, "A mission? Sweet. He say what it's about?"

"No, just that it was supposed to go to another team, but something happened to them."

"Their loss, our gain. It's about time we got some excitement. Maybe we'll get to seek out some new life and then kill it."

"We're supposed to be peaceful explorers," Sam pointed out.

"Sure, sure. We'll, like, peacefully kill some evil space dragon or something and then rescue a princess." Dean finished cleaning up and elbowed Sam with a grin. "Or maybe a bunch of princesses. Very grateful ones, from a planet where they're very expressive about their gratitude."

"You keep dreaming, Dean," Sam said.

They made it to the briefing room with a couple minutes to spare, and Lorne and Neill arrived a few moments after them. General Landry emerged from his office at exactly 1030. He looked every bit as aloof and imposing as he had the first two times Sam had met him, very much like Sam had always thought a general might seem up close. According to some people around the base he could be friendly and cheerful when he was in a good mood, but that was just a rumor that Sam had yet to confirm. Thus far, Landry had never been in a good mood around him, instead varying from angry to resignedly annoyed. Sam couldn't really blame him for that, given the trouble that he and Dean had caused the last time they were at the SGC, or given the comment about Landry's admittedly odd eyebrows Sam had made while a bit high on painkillers.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Landry said, giving them something almost, but not quite, like a genuine smile. He took the chair at the end of the table and sat a folder in front of him. "I'm sorry about calling you here on such short notice, but SG-12 became unavailable due to a small medical issue."

"Nothing serious, I hope," Lorne said.

"Doctor Lam assures me that they'll be fine once all the fungus has been removed," Landry replied.

Lorne nodded, as if fungus removal was normal. "That's good to hear, sir."

"Since they'll be down for at least a week, I decided there was no reason to delay this mission. It's not time-critical, but it also doesn't require them specifically and it'll be easier than adjusting the mission roster at this point." Landry open the folder and passed a paper to each of them. "Your destination is P7X-182. We sent a MALP through two days ago. It found no signs of civilization in the immediate area, but it did detect a faint EM signature somewhere to the west, which may be artificial. Your mission is to perform a recon sweep of the area and try to determine the source."

"Is this address from the Ancient or Goa'uld list, sir?" Lorne asked while looking over the paper. Sam had already skimmed it and saw there was little more there than a record of meteorological data, a soil sample analysis that meant nothing to him, and an equally meaningless electromagnetic readout.

"It's from the Abydos cartouche," Landry replied. "As I said, though, there's no sign of any recent activity, human or otherwise, in the vicinity of the gate."

Lorne nodded. "What are our orders if we do find something, or someone?"

"If there's technology, examine it and determine whether you can bring it back to base safely or if we need to send a larger retrieval team." Landry looked around the table. "I'm sure with such a… wide variety of expertise on different technologies you should be well equipped to make that determination. If there's natives, use your own judgment about making contact. As I understand you have plenty of experience with first contact situations."

"Yes, sir, I do." Lorne bit his bottom lip. "What if we find an Ori presence on the planet?"

"In that case, return to the gate immediately. Under no circumstances engage the enemy unless it's necessary to escape."

Dean frowned. "What, we're supposed to just run if we see the bad guys?"

"Yes, Mr. Winchester, I believe that's exactly what I just said," Landry said slowly, like he was talking to a child. "You are not a combat or intelligence gathering team."

"Wouldn't it be a good idea to stick around for a while if we can avoid detection?" Neill asked. "Especially if they're messing around with some piece of technology there. They could be gone or set up their doomsday device or whatever by the time another team could come back."

"Exactly!" Dean said. "Listen, we can totally do the stealthy recon thing, we've done it plenty of times. They'd never even know we were there."

"Gentlemen, maybe you don't realize how this works," Landry said. "I tell you what to do, then you do it without arguing. It's very simple."

"But," Dean said, stopping short when Sam kicked him under the table.

"I'm sure we can manage to do that, General," Sam said with a smile. "It'll be no trouble at all."

"Absolutely none," Lorne agreed. "At the first sign of any Ori or other hostile presence, we'll be out of there."

"Good," Landry said with an air of finality. "You depart at 1400 hours. Dismissed."

The team got up and headed one way, Landry the other. Dean at least had the common sense to wait until they were safely out of earshot before saying, "Dude, when did you become the general's bitch?"

"In case you haven't noticed, Dean never knows when to keep his mouth shut around authority figures," Sam said to Lorne without even looking at Dean. "I think it's because of all those years of repressed teenage rebellion."

"Just because I wasn't a whiny brat like you were doesn't mean I was repressing anything," Dean retorted.

Lorne nodded. "I've seen it plenty of times. You take some momma's boy away from home and the next thing you know he's at a harvest festival, drunk off his ass and trying to sleep with anyone who looks his way."

"That sounds familiar," Sam said. "Just replace harvest festival with the local bars."

"You're just jealous that I'm getting laid regularly and you're not," Dean said.

"Yeah, right. There can't be that many women with bad taste in this city."

"Not that this display of brotherly love isn't fascinating," Neill broke in, "but I'd like to ask the major what our actual plans are if we do stumble onto an Ori army."

Lorne looked over his shoulder at Neill and quirked an eyebrow. "Mr. Jackson, are you implying that we would do anything but follow our orders to the best of our ability?"

Neill rolled his eyes and sighed. "I don't think I'm _implying_ anything."

"If we see any Ori, we will do our best to exfiltrate as fast as we can without being detected," Lorne said sternly. "And if that means sitting in a concealed position with a convenient view, well, that's just coincidental."

"Ah, I see we're going with the 'follow the letter of the orders while accidentally going against their spirit' tactic. An oldie but a goodie."

"Wait, so we are fighting the bad guys?" Dean asked.

"No," Lorne said.

"No?"

"Not unless we have to, and definitely not if there's a prior around. Those guys are bad news. I'd rather deal with a queen than with one of them." At Dean's hangdog expression, Lorne relented and said, "I'm sure at some point we'll get to heroically fight off a horde of evil-doers and save a village or something. God knows SG-1 and Team Sheppard do it often enough. Personally, I'd rather avoid that sort of thing, because it always causes trouble. One minute the villagers will be thankful, the next you'll be tied to a rock and offered as a sacrifice to the gods or something. It gets old fast."

Neill chuckled. "What made you get so cynical, Major?"

Lorne started ticking reasons off his fingers. "Giant lizard-men trying to eat me. Space vampires trying to eat me several times, once after blowing up my Ancient battleship. No less than ten encounters with the inside of an alien jail cell, not including the thirteen or so times I was in one while rescuing my CO from angry natives. Speaking of him, he awoke two nigh-unstoppable evil alien races and made a habit of having all sorts of wacky adventures. He once turned into a bug just to make my life miserable. Also, have I mentioned how much trouble SG-1 gets into, or the casualty rates of SG team members?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. He wanted to believe that Lorne was exaggerating, but when he thought about how much trouble he and his family had been involved in without even leaving Earth, he found himself afraid that Lorne was being entire truthful.

"You know, you're not exactly encouraging your rookie teammate here," Sam said.

"I figure you should know what you've got to look forward to," Lorne replied with a shrug. "It's not all bad. You see some cool stuff, meet cool people, and you do get to save lives and make a difference. Sometimes people are even grateful."

"Grateful natives," Dean said. "I like the sound of that."

Lorne eyed Dean. "It can be nice. Sometimes too nice. If you make me deal with another interstellar paternity suit, I'll shoot you. Assuming you don't catch an STD that makes you age fifty years in a week."

"This is going to get really old, really fast," Neill remarked while giving Lorne a dirty look.

"Maybe if you'd stay in character better, I'd stop," Lorne replied.

"What's that mean?" Sam asked.

"Nothing," they said simultaneously.

"Really," Sam said.

Neill nodded. "Yep. Nothing at all."

"If you say so."

"We do," Lorne said firmly. "What do you guys say to getting an early lunch and then taking some time to review off-world mission protocol one last time?"

"I could eat," Dean said after a moment.

"So could I," Neill agreed. "I wonder what today's pie is?"

"I'm hoping for cherry again. It was great."

The pie was raspberry. Sam thought it was okay, although from the noises Dean and Neill made it may as well have been the second coming of Pie Jesus or something. He and Lorne did their best to ignore them and go over plans and contingencies. Never go anywhere alone, never dial Earth without a GDO, maintain radio contact, always keep your towel close: common-sense things that could possibly save their lives if things went wrong. Lorne hadn't been joking when he had mentioned casualty rates, because apparently almost a quarter of new SG teams experienced casualties within their first six months, and often entire teams were wiped out. Sometimes that was from shear bad luck, but sometimes it was avoidable if you knew what you were doing and kept your wits.

When the time to leave came, they trooped down to one of the ready rooms to gear up. It was familiar and yet not at the same time. Loading weapons and assembling other gear was something Sam had done a thousand times before. This time, though, they were doing it with equipment they had only dreamed of before: real holsters and utility belts, armored tactical vests, advanced radio gear, and most of all, plenty of guns and ammo. Sam had gotten the impression that civilians usually stuck with just sidearms, but Lorne didn't so much as blink when Sam and Neill checked out P-90s and Dean slung an M-16 over his shoulder, or when they all took a couple grenades and flashbangs plus C-4 blocks. Sam found himself almost hoping they'd get a chance to use some of it. Last they all shouldered small backpacks with the equipment they might need to take samples or set up a camp.

The gate trip to P7X-182 was even cooler as the one to the Alpha Site. One moment they were surrounded by concrete, the next they were standing in a wide open clearing halfway across the galaxy. There was tall, yellowing grass all around them, and a few hundred yards ahead there was a treeline. The sun was halfway to the horizon, although Sam didn't know if that meant it was morning or afternoon; either way it was already at least eighty or so degrees out, a stark contrast to the cool October afternoons back on Earth. The only artificial objects around were the gate, the DHD in front of it, and the MALP sitting next to the DHD. From all around them came the sound of cicadas and birds.

After radioing in their safe arrival, Lorne said, "Okay, so the MALP's sensors showed the EM readings from magnetic west, which should be that way." He frowned and bit his lip. "I guess it's a start, although this would be a lot easier if they'd let us use the jumper or at least a life-signs detector."

"Jumper?" Sam asked.

"Puddle jumper. It's a small ship that goes through the gate," Lorne explained. "It's got sensors and would let us cover a lot more ground."

"I've got something that might help," Dean said with a grin. He opened up a large pouch on his belt and pulled out something that might have once been a Palm Pilot or some other kind of handheld computer. It now had several antennae, wires, and blinking gizmos attached to the top. "It's a detector I built."

"Like your EMF meter?" Sam asked, thinking of a device Dean had jury-rigged using a Walkman.

"Only better," Dean said with a grin. "I, ah, liberated the computer and stuck on some of the sensors that are laying around the workshops."

"I think you mean you requisitioned it," Lorne said dryly.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Dean said. He made a show of waving the detector around in a westward direction. "Well, it's definitely picking up… something in that direction."

"Something?" Neill said. "What kind of something? An electromagnetic field? Ionizing radiation? Subspace transmissions?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know, it just makes the bar graphs go all squiggly."

"Squiggly," Neill repeated.

"Yep. I just built this thing, I don't know what any of the readings actually mean."

"Oh, for crying out loud. Give that here." Neill tried to snatch the detector, but Dean jerked it away and out of reach.

"Dude, build your own scanner," Dean said. "Whatever it is, it's not dangerous, otherwise this little red light here would be blinking."

"Oh, that's reassuring. No blinky light, that clearly means we won't have our insides melted by gamma rays."

"Duh. That's the point of the light."

"You said you don't know what the reading mean, so how could you program it to blink for danger?"

"I read the manuals," Dean said.

Sam lifted an eyebrow. "You read the manuals. _You_ read the _manuals_."

Dean ignored him. "I even had one of the other techs and a scientist check it out to make sure it was calibrated right."

Neill snorted. "It was probably Felger who looked at it and the entire thing's wired backwards."

"No, it was that cute little Japanese woman."

Neill shook his head and made as if he was going to turn away, then suddenly jumped at Dean while reaching for the detector. Dean danced away with it held behind his back and stuck out his tongue.

"Oh, Christ," Lorne muttered. "I do not get paid enough for this." Louder, he added, "Neill, he did build it, and if Miko says it's okay it's okay. Dean, it would be nice if someone who can interpret the readings could get a look at them. At least hold it so he can see it."

Dean frowned for moment but eventually held out the detector so that Neill could stand beside him and see the screen. After several seconds Neill grudgingly nodded.

"It looks like some kind of faint power source," he said. "Nothing dangerous. Yet."

"Good," Lorne said. "You two take point and keep us heading in the right direction. Make sure you keep an eye on your surroundings."

"I bet they didn't tell you to expect babysitting duty in major school," Sam quietly said to Lorne as they started to walk toward the woods.

"Tell me about it," Lorne grumbled. "Don't get me wrong, it's the best damn job in the world, but everyone in the program's nutty as trail mix. It was even worse back home."

"How's that?"

"Think about it. First, everyone volunteered to go on a potential one-way trip to another galaxy, even the second wave. That's not exactly sane. Second, everyone's brilliant and skilled, but, well, ultimately expendable. The civilians have odd quirks, the soldiers are a little too smart and weird to really fit in even at the SGC - so they shipped them out to us. Third, everyone's isolated in close quarters at the ass end of the universe . It's a miracle we're not all psych cases."

Sam frowned. "Wait, what are you talking about?"

"Atlantis," Lorne said, as if it was self-evident.

"Huh." Sam was even more puzzled than before. "What's that got to do with home?"

Now Lorne was frowning too. "What makes you think it does?"

"You said it was worse back home?"

"I did?" Lorne looked away from Sam. "Slip of the tongue."

That was the end that conversation. Lorne clammed up tight and focused intently on the surrounding trees, the deer track they were now following, the occasional bird passing overhead, and just about everything but Sam, leaving the team in silence except for the crunch of twigs and plants underfoot, the noises of bugs and wildlife, and the rustle of wind in the leaves overhead. After a few minutes Sam found that he was actually relieved they had stopped talking, as the heat was starting to get too oppressive to do much more than walk along. Sam had a feeling that the temperature was going to shoot past ninety and on to points beyond before it started to get cool again, and that by the time they got home his clothes were going to be soaked. The only positive point was that it was a very dry heat.

Finally, a good twenty minutes later, they came upon a weed-filled clearing. It was about thirty or forty yards across and too close to a perfect circle to be natural. That suspicion was confirmed when Sam nearly tripped over a long cylindrical stone that might once have been a pillar of some sort.

"Those readings are coming from the center," Dean said. They made their way over and found another stone object. This one was different from the first near the edge of the clearing. That one had been weather-worn and covered with moss; this one was still hard-edged and had shiny, almost metallic look. It was rectangular in shape with cut-off corners, was about eight feet long and half that wide, and rose to waist level. There was an overhang that stuck out form the main body by several inches. In all, it reminded Sam of an altar, albeit a very plain one.

"So," Lorne said after they had studied it for a few seconds, "anyone have a clue what it is?"

"Nope," Dean said.

Sam's face scrunched up as he thought about it, but after a moment he slowly shook his head. "Not really, no. I don't think it's Goa'uld." It wasn't nearly flashy enough, for one thing. A Goa'uld device would be covered with gold or silver and have symbols and art carved into it that proclaimed the power of the god who created it. Even a simple control panel or dinner table would have some kind of ornamentation.

"It could be Ancient," Neill suggested. "It kinda reminds me of those stone control devices they used at Dakara and the time loop machine, only without, you know, the controls."

"Maybe," Lorne allowed. "It doesn't look like the Ancient tech I'm used to, but they did tend to use a different style in this galaxy. Anyone see any controls?" A quick glance over the… device? Garden decoration? Over the maybe-Ancient artifact revealed no obvious controls of any kind.

"Neill, Dean, see if there's any kind of access panel. Maybe a look at its guts will give you some idea about what it is. Sam and I'll keep watch." Lorne frowned after he said that, then added, "And try not to think 'on' or anything like that. Honestly, who thought it was a good idea to make a team where everyone has the gene?"

"Why's that?" Sam asked as Dean and Neill stomped down on some of the surrounding plants to clear a space to sit down.

"Because it's useful to have someone who can touch stuff without initializing or otherwise activating it," Lorne explained. "It helps keep accidents from happening."

As soon as he said it the artifact started to hum softly. Dean and Neill, who had been feeling the side for any seams, all but jumped back and simultaneously said, "He did it!"

"Wonderful," Lorne said. "Good job, guys."

"Dude, you try being told not to think of something and see how well you do it," Dean said.

"Just get it open and make sure it's not about to explode on us."

Sam watched as they sat their backpacks downs and started to pull out tools. He had to look away after a moment, because the thought of them assaulting what was probably a priceless artifact millions of years old with hammers was too much to bear.

"You know, I bet there's something under us," Sam said to Lorne as they kept an eye on the treeline. "Otherwise trees would have taken root inside this circle."

Lorne nodded. "That'd make sense, assuming no one's been around to take care of the place for more than a few decades."

"I thought the Ancients have been gone for ten thousand years?"

"They have been. Or had been. Whatever. Even though they've been MIA, there's plenty of people who set up shop around Ancient ruins and use them as temples or places to conduct their weird-ass rituals at." Lorne frowned and scratched the back of his head. "Or at least that's the case in another galaxy. Ancient-worshiping isn't quite as popular around these parts."

"I can't imagine the Goa'uld would have tolerated much of that, or left any Ancient devices laying around when they could have scavenged it. It's amazing how much of their technology is just poor copies of Ancient technology, really. Some of it looks really familiar at times." Sam snorted and shook his head. "Of course, I could just be imagining that, so who knows if it means anything." He would have said more but stopped short when he realized that Lorne was staring off into the trees with narrow eyes. "Something wrong?" he asked.

"You hear that?" Lorne replied. "I think there's something moving in the forest."

Sam listened and after a second he heard it too, a combination of cracks, crashes, angry birds, and thumps that was growing nearer. "Yeah, I hear it."

"It sounds big," Dean remarked as he and Neill climbed to their feet.

"Maybe an elephant," Neill suggested. When everyone looked skeptically at him, he shrugged and said, "They have to live somewhere."

"Sheppard ran into a T-Rex once," Lorne said as he unclipped his P-90 from his vest and held it low but ready. Sam mimicked him and readied his own weapon.

"That'd be cool," Dean said.

"No, it wouldn't," Sam replied.

"Sure it would. Just think about how great it'd be to go home and tell everyone we bagged a dinosaur?"

"I think I saw something move," Neill said, pointing at the treeline.

At first Sam couldn't anything there, but then the 'something' moved again and stepped into the clearing and out of the perfect camouflage of the surrounding trees. It was easily twenty feet tall and shaped roughly like a human, but other than that it bore closer resemblance to a walking tree than a person. It was as if an ent had stepped right out of the pages of _The Lord of the Rings_, although Sam was pretty sure Tolkien hadn't mentioned any wicked-looking claws.

"Graaagh!" it bellowed from a crag-like mouth, so loud that the noise echoed for several seconds.

Lorne's eyes bugged out and he swallowed, but after a moment he regained his composure and smiled. He called out, "Hello! We're peaceful explorers from the planet Earth! I hope we're not trespassing!"

"Waaaaaauuurghh!" the ent bellowed. Then it rushed towards them, footsteps shaking the ground and arms and claws outstretched.

"Oh, shit," Lorne said, quickly followed by, "Open fire!"

Sam lifted the P-90 to his shoulder, thumbed the selector to full auto, and squeezed the trigger, his teammates doing the same all around him. The air filled with the sound of automatic weapons and the screams of the ent as it continued in their direction even as a spray of woodchips exploded out of its chest. It finally went down and snapped in half with a terrific crack as their bullets chewed right through it. Sam kept firing even after it hit the ground, just in case, and once it was clear it was no longer moving he instinctively ejected his clip and slapped a new one in place.

"That was different," Neill said after a moment.

"Yeah, it was a new one on me, too," Lorne replied, while slipping eye protectors out of his vest and putting them on.

Sam was about to remark on how it reminded him an unpleasant scarecrow-related incident the previous year but was stopped when there was another bellow and a second ent pushed its way out of the trees. It was a little shorter and thinner than the first but moved faster, and it nearly got halfway across the clearing before it too went down.

"What the hell is going on?" Dean said.

Lorne looked between the ents and the artifact and groaned. "Fucking Ancients."

"I bet it's calling them," Neill suggested.

"Or maybe animating them in the first place," Lorne said.

"Either way, I bet if we blow it up we'd save ourselves a lot of trouble," Neill said, already opening up a pocket on his tac vest.

"You can't blow it up!" Sam protested.

"Watch me," Neill said with a wide grin.

Lorne shook his head. "He's right, we can't blow it up. Who knows how its power source would react."

Neill grimaced but nodded. "In that case, sir, I recommend we high-tail it back to the gate. We're going to run out of ammo fast as this rate."

"I agree. We can let some marines and a science team deal with the ents if Landry thinks this thing is important. Grab your gear and let's go."

Neill and Dean knelt down and hurriedly threw their stuff back into their packs. Dean stayed down and kept rummaging through his even after Neill finished.

"Dude, what do we use to kill evil tree spirits?" Dean asked, looking over his shoulder at Sam. "I've got some rock salt, some silver bullets, a few other things in here."

"Why am I supposed to know?" Sam exclaimed.

"It's your job to know, dumbass. You're like a walking encyclopedia of weird shit."

"That doesn't mean I know how to kill alien trees," Sam replied.

Dean rolled his eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Typical. I have to do all the work myself. Oh, here we go."

"I really don't think that's a good idea," Lorne said when he saw what Dean pulled from his pack.

"Waaaaaauggh!"

A new ent stepped into the clearing. It was gigantic, easily twice as big as the first, and it had three arms. It bellowed again, just as Dean raised the flare gun and fired. The flare arced through the air and landed squarely in the middle of the crown of leaves around the ent's 'head'. The ent's bellow turned into a screech as it caught fire. Within moments it was engulfed with flames and stumbling around mindlessly while flailing at its top, until it finally fell back into the woods with a crash.

"Score one for me," Dean said with a satisfied smirk.

"Okay, that was cool," Neill admitted in an impressed tone.

Lorne was less enthusiastic, covering his eyes with his hand and mumbling, "Dean, you idiot."

"Sometimes I hate being related to you," Sam said.

"What's that matter, unhappy I thought of it first?"

Dean's answer came from neither Sam nor Lorne, but instead from the increasingly loud crackling noise coming from around the fallen ent. They were quickly followed by clouds of smoke and flames leaping high into the air as the dry brush and grass around it caught fire as well.

"Um," Dean said as he watched the fire grow and spread in all directions, including theirs. "Well, shit."

"This is the part of the mission where we flee in terror, isn't it?" Neill asked.

"Yep," Lorne answered.

They booked it back down the game trail they had followed to get there, while behind them the flames spread rapidly with the help of a wind that had, of course, chosen then to start kicking up. Sam was unpleasantly reminded of the massive forest fires that had seemed to burn down half of California every year while he was at Stanford. When those had happened he had been happily sitting in his apartment and watching on TV; in person the blaze turned out to be ten times as impressive and ten thousand times more pants-wetting terrifying. They were outpacing it but only barely and it was all Sam could do to keep from sprinting, knowing that he couldn't afford to exhaust himself or, God forbid, trip and sprain his ankle.

They reached the gate clearing just ahead of the fire; everything behind them was aflame. Neill dialed the gate while Lorne punched his IDC into his GDO. As the wormhole appeared Sam glanced behind him, just in time to see a flaming ent hurling towards them.

"Fuck, run!" he yelled.

They rushed through the gate and into the clear, cool air on the other side. As they ran down the ramp Lorne shouted out, "Close the iris!"

He was a second too late; the iris hissed close just as the ent stepped through and screamed, "Waaaaaauugh!"

The team and the half-dozen SFs standing around the room raised their weapons and fired. To either side of the ramp the men at the heavy fifty-cal machine guns opened up as well. The ent seemed to explode and burning chunks of tree filled the air. By the time they stopped shooting the ent had been reduced little more than a pile of charred branches and a shattered trunk on the ramp. The room was full of smoke and there were smoldering splinters everywhere.

One of the doors hissed open and General Landry stormed in. He said something but Sam couldn't hear him over the ringing in his ears.

"What?" Lorne shouted. "I can't hear you, sir!"

"I said, what the hell was that!"

Lorne bit his lip and shrugged. "I think it was an ent, sir! Or maybe a huorn, I'm not sure."

Landry opened and closed his mouth several times, then sighed. "We'll debrief after you're cleared by the infirmary. Walter! Get a biohazard cleanup team in here!"

Sam got the impression that Landry might be hoping that his base hadn't just been attacked by a giant living tree and that everyone was hallucinating. He really couldn't blame the general.

They handed their weapons and gear off to waiting SFs and tromped off to the infirmary. Doctor Lam and her nurses took in their splinter-covered, slightly-singed clothes and their smoky scent without so much as a comment, simply ordering them to sit down on beds and wait for examination. Soon Sam was poked and prodded and scanned as the medical staff went about making sure there was no snake in his head, no alien diseases in his blood, and that he wasn't actually a flesh-covered Terminator. All they found were a few scratches, which they doused liberally with the most painful disinfectant in existence and then covered with band-aids. Evil Nurse Brenda cheerfully informed him that the disinfectant was ninety-seven percent effective in making sure no alien microbes survived, and that the new formula was even good against what had crippled SG-19 five months before.

As they were waiting for the last blood screens to come back from the lab, a man in BDUs with experimental hair came striding into the room.

"Lorne!" Mr. Fluffy said. "What the hell is this I hear about killer trees?"

Lorne rolled his eyes. "We were attacked by ents, sir."

"It was your first mission since we got back and you go and get attacked by ents? God, what the fuck is wrong with this galaxy? And why do I even let you go off-world without supervision?"

"Yes, Colonel, we're all unhurt, thank you for asking," Lorne said. "Also, you're not my CO anymore, and I think this rates far below getting turned into a bug on the scale of fucked-up missions, so kindly go screw yourself."

Colonel Fluffy — assuming he was really a colonel, because Sam had his doubts that anyone could reach colonel with hair like that — frowned and put his hands on his hips. "I thought we agreed never to mention the bug thing again. Ever."

"I've found he's a bastard like that," Neill said from the far end of the room.

"Shut up, runt," Lorne said. "You may have agreed, sir, but I did not."

"Hey, Lorne, I heard you had some fun today," Colonel Mitchell drawled as he ambled into the infirmary. He glanced at Colonel Fluffy. "Afternoon, Sheppard."

"Mitchell."

"Major, are you — oh." A tall, lanky, sandy-haired man had appeared behind Mitchell and stopped short. "Hello there."

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Lorne groaned. "I really hope you guys aren't going to come down here every time an alien looks the wrong way at me, because it's going to get really annoying, really fast."

"Actually, Major, I came because I heard there was something about a walking plant."

"I'll tell you all about it tonight, doc. As for you two, I'm fine, seriously."

"Does he look fine to you?" Sheppard asked Mitchell.

"Yeah, although he seems a bit cranky."

"Maybe he missed his nap."

"Could be."

"Dean, you wouldn't happen to still have a sidearm, would you?" Lorne asked. "How about you, Sam? Anyone?"

"I think that's our cue to leave," Mitchell said. "Come on, guys. We can bug him later."

Mitchell herded the other two out of the infirmary, just in time for Colonel Carter to squeeze past and walk over to Neill's bed.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Fine, Carter," he grumpled.

"Good." Carter smirked ever so slightly. "We're all wondering, do you still think trees are boring?"

Lorne sighed and shook his head.

They were eventually certified as non-alien and uncontaminated a few minutes later, and after a quick shower and a change of clothes they returned to the briefing room. Through the window they could seem a cleanup crew still hard at work. Some of the men were using chainsaws to cut the ent's trunk into more manageable segments. General Landry seemed less than thrilled by this.

"Gentlemen, would you like to explain to me why, less than an hour after you left, you returned to the SGC trailing an animated, murderous tree?" he asked. "A tree which was, I might add, on fire?

Sam, Dean, and Neill all looked to Lorne, who smiled and said, "Well, sir, it's quite simple. Upon arriving on the planet, we traced the energy emissions to their source. That turned out to be an Ancient device located not far from the stargate. Unfortunately, as we examined the device we were attacked by several of the… tree-creatures. We're not sure whether the creatures were created by the device or simply drawn there by them or by us. When it became clear that we would soon run out of ammunition, I ordered a retreat to the gate."

"I see," Landry said. "And the one that managed to follow you was on fire because…?"

Dean raised his hand. "Uh, that would my fault. Sorry."

"Mr. Winchester, realizing that being made of wood and leaves might mean the tree-creatures were vulnerable to fire, used a flare gun to drive one away."

Landry nodded and even smiled slightly. "Good thinking. I suppose it just made it angry, though, since the wood was probably too wet."

"Ah, no, not exactly," Lorne said. "That was an entirely different ent — ah, creature. The one he shot died. Unfortunately, the surrounding forest was very dry and hot, and the fire from the creature spread and started a forest fire. We barely escaped, the fire was right behind us when we dialed out.""

Landry's smiled disappeared. "A forest fire."

"Yes, sir."

"Like that sort that engulfs thousands of acres of land and incinerates everything in it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Like the sort that would probably destroy a valuable Ancient device?"

"Actually, sir," Sam said, "given how long the device has been there, I'm sure it's survived hundreds, even thousands of fires like that."

"Oh, yeah," Neill said. "You know Ancient tech. You can set it on fire, flood it, whatever, it'll keep on working right until you need it most."

"Mmm." Landry's bushy eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "I'm sure the MALP was just as durable."

"Maybe?" Sam said. He wondered how much a MALP cost. Probably enough that there was an accountant crying somewhere on the base.

Landry sighed. "Well, I suppose you can't be blamed for what happened. Next time try to use a little more caution when starting fires."

"Believe me, sir, I will. No more fires, I promise," Dean said. He gave Landry his best earnest and regretful "I'm a priest or officer of the law and am sorry for your loss" look, one that had always inspired trust among all he wielded it against.

Landry stared back at him in silence until Dean's expression started to slowly droop, then stood with a huff and said, "Get your mission reports to me by Monday morning. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to talk with Siler about repainting the gateroom ceiling. Dismissed." He walked to his office, muttering, "Burning trees. Even SG-1 never brought home a burning tree."

The team quickly escaped from the briefing room and headed for the elevator. As they did, Neill remarked, "Hammond would have found a flaming tree amusing."

"No, he really wouldn't have," Lorne replied.

"Okay, maybe not," Neill admitted. "O'Neill would have, though."

"No, I'm pretty sure he'd be a bit annoyed, too."

"Okay, maybe he would be. But he'd be laughing on the inside!"

"I guess you'd know." They reached the elevator and piled inside, punching in levels of their respective offices and labs. As the door slide shut, Lorne asked, "You guys have any plans for tonight?"

"I'm gonna hit some bars, play some pool, get laid," Dean said. "Same as any Friday, really."

"No? Good," Lorne went on. "You've got some now."

Dean blinked. "Huh?"

"Team night?" Neill asked.

"If being attacked by ents doesn't call for a team night, I don't know what does," Lorne said. "Dinner at eighteen thirty, booze will be provided but feel free to bring extra."

"I said that I did have — oof!" Dean glared at Sam, who had just elbowed him in the side. "Dude, what the hell?"

"Don't be an ass, Dean. We'll be there, Major."

"No need to be a bitch about it," Dean muttered. "I just joking."

"I believe you," Sam said. "But only because you heard 'booze will be provided'."

"That's not true at all, and even if it were there's nothing wrong with wanting to have a little fun."

The elevator doors slid open and Lorne gave the two of them a shove. "You two make me glad I never had a brother," he said. "Get your reports done and to me before you leave. Sam, proofread his. I refuse to submit anything to the general that doesn't have proper grammar and spelling or that has too much profanity."

"You know," Dean said as they headed for Sam's cubicle, "I think you're giving people a bad impression of me."

"You give people a bad impression of you."

"Whatever, bitch."

"Jerk."

Sam took Lorne's instructions to heart, although possibly not in the way the major had intended. Rather than waiting to see just how badly Dean could mangle a page or two about even a short mission, Sam just wrote it for him. It probably violated some sort of regulation, but Sam was fairly certain that it was a minor transgression, especially compared to, say, credit card fraud or impersonating an FBI agent.

That evening, after they had showered off the last of the sawdust and ash, changed into civvies, and stopped by their place to pick up a fair share of alcohol and snacks, Sam and Dean drove to Lorne's apartment. He lived in small building on the edge of the city.

"Hey guys," Lorne said when they arrived. Something seemed off about him, and after a second Sam realized that he was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. It made perfect sense that he wouldn't wear his uniform off the base, but it was still clashed with Sam's existing notion of him as The Major, complete with capitals.

"The food's almost ready," Lorne continued as he waved them in. "Take your shoes off and make yourself at home. Here, give me that stuff, I'll take it to the kitchen."

Sam handed off his bag of goodies and shucked his shoes before walking further into the apartment. The living room seemed almost painfully tidy, although more from being unlived in rather than recently cleaned. Other than the slightly faded paint everything seemed brand new - the big-screen TV and accompanying electronics, the L-shaped couch at the center of the room, the dining table, and all the other furniture Sam could see. It reminded him a lot of his own place. A couple of plants sat in pots near the windows. The walls were mostly bare, except for a few pictures and a couple of paintings and sketches. Sam took a moment to look at them while Dean promptly plopped his ass down on the couch.

"These paintings are pretty good," Sam called out. One was of a pair of fighter jets coming in for a landing; another was less ordinary, two moons rising above an ocean at night. "Where'd you get them?"

"Evan painted them himself," a man said behind him. Sam turned to see the man who had visited the infirmary, only this time he was wearing an apron. "He's something of an artist."

"Really? That's cool." Sam walked over to shake his hand. "Sam Winchester. That lump on the couch is Dean."

"Howdy!" Dean said with a wave.

"David Parrish. I'm Evan's roommate."

From in the kitchen, Lorne called, "Don't you go telling them any stories!"

Parrish chuckled. "I used to go out with his team occasionally. He's probably afraid that I'm going to scare you all with tales of space vampires and other weird things."

Sam grinned. "Vampires? Vampires, we can deal with. It'll take a lot more than that to freak out us or out-weird some of the things we've seen."

Parrish nodded. "Mmm, so I've heard. Still, I bet I could come up with some." He put his index finger to his lips and thought. "Tell me — have any of your adventures involved you and your commanding officer dressing up as sacred ostriches and doing a dance?"

"If you're going to scare us, you might want to start with something a little more believable," Sam said with a laugh. Parrish quirked an eyebrow at him and Sam's laughter trailed off. "Wait, you're serious?"

"Oh, yes. Very fascinating ritual, the Tervolan ostrich ceremony. The sociologists would have a field day, if only any video footage existed."

"There better not be any!" Lorne shouted.

"Personally, I found it amusing, if not intellectually stimulating. On the other hand, pollen, that's a different story."

"Pollen?" Something about pollen and off-world missions sounded familiar, like Sam had heard people talking, maybe joking about it around base. He couldn't quite put a finger on what they had been saying.

"Don't believe a word he says. There's no such thing as sex pollen." Lorne emerged from the kitchen and gave Parrish playful shove. "Get back in the kitchen, doc. I'm hungry."

"Sex pollen?" Dean said, twisting around and perking up like a dog hearing the word 'treat'.

"There's no such thing," Lorne repeated. "Botanists have a weird sense of humor and too much time on their hands."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Neill said from the entrance hall. Sam turned around, surprised because he hadn't even heard the door open and close. "Off-world teams run into a lot of things they forget to put in their reports."

"How'd you get in?" Lorne asked.

Neill shrugged. "I picked the lock."

"Wonderful. I'll remember to set up a tripwire or maybe a mine next time."

"And I'll come in the window." Neill sniffed. "Is there food? I'm starving."

"God, I hate teenagers," Lorne grumbled. "No, wait, I take that back. The Athosian teenagers were the nicest bunch you could ask for - hard working, respectful of their elders, never complained about being hungry. But you? Not so much."

"I'm not a teenager," Neill said. "I'm twenty-one."

Lorne smiled. "Not by my count. But don't worry, I'll overlook the drinking age thing if you promise to behave."

Neill rolled his eyes. "I will behave, whatever that means."

"Good boy."

"Fuck you, Major."

"Fuck you too, sir. Pizza's ready, guys. Come and get it."

Dean all but vaulted over the back of the couch, eliciting a wince from Lorne, and Neill was close behind him as he rushed to the kitchen. Sam followed at a slower pace in order to maintain a safe distance and avoid getting a limb gnawed off. There was an array of food set out on the counter, including two huge pizzas, one with sausage, one with pineapple, both fresh from the oven, plus chips and trays of sliced veggies and fruit. It instantly reminded Sam of his Standford days, when this kind of meal would have counted as high-class indeed. There was also plenty of beer and pop, which would have fit right in as well. Sam grabbed some of everything.

"The pizza on the left's vegetarian, by the way. I didn't think any of you were, but I figured it was better safe than sorry," Parrish said as they all filled their plates. "I'd have made something a little fancier, but someone didn't give me much notice. "

"I'll try to do better next time," Lorne said. "Thanks for taking the trouble in the first place."

They all settled down around the table. Dean was inhaling his food, but was at least refraining from making any disgusting pig-like noises as he did so. Sam bit into his own pizza and his eyes bugged out. It was intensely spicy, a blend of tastes that he couldn't recognize other than a liberal amount of chili pepper and an almost bar-be-que-ish tang.

"This is… different," he said. He cautiously took another bite. It wasn't bad at all, sort of like a weird bastardization of Indian and Tex-Mex. A glance around the table showed that Neill looked mildly surprised but was wolfing his down none the less, and Lorne was smiling widely.

"It's great," Lorne said. "I think you almost got it this time. The meat's still a little off, but the sauce is spot on."

"Thank you," Parrish replied. "I'm positive I got the right mix of turmeric and cummin this time to replicate the elovka root. The problem's the aetokayway, of course. I think deer might be closer, but I don't know about the texture."

"Closer to what?" Sam asked.

"Aetokaway," Lorne said. "It's sort of like a kiwi bird, only waist high and fatter. They're good eating."

"Huh." Sam hadn't even given any thought to alien food. It was blindingly obvious that they'd have their own styles now that he considered it. "I guess you ate a lot of weird stuff during your previous assignment?"

"We imported as much food as we could, to conserve our sealed supplies," Lorne explained. "We had to get creative for meals a lot of the time, but thankfully we had a real chef to keep the marines from poisoning us all with their cooking. Of course, there were also off-world functions."

Neill grunted and around a mouthful of food opined, "The only thing worse than a diplomatic banquet is an alien diplomatic banquet. All the same stuffy, boring speeches, plus every kind of weird-ass food you can think of. Goat ice cream, for example."

"Or goat stomach," Lorne added.

Parrish nodded. "Goat brains."

"Braaaaains," Dean said with a grin. "What, was that planet of the zombies?"

Everyone looked at him for a moment, then Sam slowly said, "There's plenty of people who eat brains right here on Earth, you know."

Dean frowned. "What, seriously?"

"Yes."

He seemed to think about that. "And we're sure they're not the creeping undead, right?"

"Positive."

"Huh." Dean thought about it for a few seconds and shrugged. "Weird."

"You have no idea," Neill said. "But you will. Oh, you will."

That seemed to be the cue for Lorne, Parrish, and Neill to begin sharing wild, disgusting, and disturbing stories about alien food, alien livestock and pets, alien banquets, and other alien customs. As the beer flowed freely the stories got worse and worse, each one trying to top the last and seeming more improbably but also depressingly true. Sam was left with the feeling that it was probably a very, very good thing that their team wasn't a first contact or diplomatic team and thus was unlikely to have to ever sample alien dishes on pain of death and/or interstellar war.

As everyone began to fill up Lorne declared that it was movie time, so they migrated to the couch after collecting more beer and, for good measure, some shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey. Dean, Sam, and Neill took the long side of the couch, leaving the short part for Lorne and Parrish. While Lorne fiddled with the fancy DVD player and its remote, Parrish brought out a plate full of brownies.

"Are those greenhouse brownies or regular brownies?" Lorne asked as he surfed through menus.

"I'm afraid we didn't manage to salvage anything from the greenhouse when we left," Parrish told him. "So they're regular… more or less."

"Pity."

Sam parsed that, then said, "Wow. If I didn't know better, I'd think I'd fallen into some sort of time warp to the past."

"There something you want to tell me, Sammy?" Dean asked. "You weren't doing anything that I wouldn't approve of, were you?"

Sam eyed Dean incredulously. "No, I'm pretty sure you'd be a-okay with everything, except for the parts where I neglected to party hard enough."

Dean shook his head and clucked his tongue. "I'm disappointed with you. The entire point of college is beer and hot chicks."

"Like you'd know."

Lorne won his battle with the remote and the air filled with a bombastic anthem. Neill jerked upright with a hilarious dismayed look on his face, then started to cackle maniacally.

"Lorne, you really are a magnificent bastard, aren't you?" he gasped.

"I try."

Sam scratched his head as Lorne hit play all and the show began. "Wormhole X-treme? If we're going to watch sci-fi, you could have picked a show that's actually good, like Firefly or Galactica. Dean, don't look at me like that." Then Sam suddenly remembered what the show was about, and said, "Wait a second. This is about… that's the… what the fuck?"

Lorne laughed. "If you thought the show was bad before, you'll find it's hilariously bad when you know what it's really based on. And who, for that matter."

"But… I mean, look at it! That's the gate, only uglier! And the aliens they fight are Goa'uld in even worse clothing! Was there a security breach or something?"

"You have no idea," Neill said. "The producer's an alien. He based the show on what he knows about galactic politics and SG-1."

"Wow. Just… wow." Sam ran his hand through his hair. "That means the robot guy's Teal'c, and the rest are Doctor Jackson, Colonel Carter, and Colonel Mitchell."

"O'Neill, actually," Neill corrected. "Mitchell's the replacement. Colonel Danning's based on the original flavor leader, although he's not nearly as witty or handsome in my opinion."

Sam thought about that. "I think I need more beer." Then Major Monroe said something ridiculous about her reproductive organs and he added, "A lot more beer."

Lorne was absolutely right: while Wormhole X-treme was cheesy under the best of circumstances, with insider knowledge it was absolutely hilarious. It got progressively more hilarious as the night went on, thanks to liberal amounts of really good alcohol and "more or less regular" brownies. They didn't stop watching until almost two in the morning, when Lorne discovered he could not longer operate his body well enough to change DVDs. By that time Dean was snoring loudly and leaning against Sam, who in turn was leaning against Neill.

"Okay, time to hit the sack, I think," Lorne said. He nudged Parrish, who had also fallen asleep but in a much quieter manner. "David, time for bed. Come on, up, up."

"I'm moving, I'm moving," Parrish grumbled.

Sam pushed Dean off of him and stood, wobbling only a little. "Should we call a cab?"

"No, you guys can crash here," Lorne said. "We've got the couch and an extra bed, there's plenty of room. There'll probably be breakfast, too."

"There's only two beds," Neill observed. He'd been drinking as much as the rest of them, but despite his smaller size Sam suspected he might be the most sober one in the room.

"There's an extra bed," Lorne repeated with a pointed look.

Neill looked back at him for a moment before tipping his head in acknowledgement. He stood up and nodded down at Dean. "Sam, you two want to take the bed while I take the couch?"

Sam grimaced. "I guess we could try to move him, but we could just share the bed. We'll probably have to do it off-world at some point, we may as well get used to it."

"Works for me. I learned a long time ago never to say no to a real mattress."

Sam took a minute to get Dean laid out on the couch in way that hopefully wouldn't leave him bitching about his neck in the morning. Lorne and Parrish disappeared into the master bedroom, while Sam and Neill took what was probably Parrish's room, if the plant pictures were anything to go by. They quickly stripped down to t-shirts and boxers and climbed into bed. There was plenty of room for both of them, more than Sam and Dean had had at more than a few one-bed motel rooms over the years.

"You think that the major and Parrish are doing it?" Neill said in the darkness.

"Do you?"

"Yep."

"So do I. They were getting a little touchy-feely after midnight."

"I know Lorne's type, he doesn't do that sort of thing by accident no matter how drunk he is. It's a good sign. Means he trusts us."

"Huh." Sam thought about that and all it implied. He was still adjusting to the concept that 'team' meant anything other than just him and Dean, but between the mission and that night he was starting to think he liked the idea. "That is good."

"More that one team's been lost because they didn't trust each other. This should work out, though."

"Speaking of trust, you want to tell me how you know so much about teams and the gate?"

Neill chuckled. "That's classified, just like your own background."

That just confirmed something Sam had suspected. "How much of _that_ do you know?"

"Enough."

"Seems a bit unfair, you knowing more of my secrets than I know of yours."

"I'm not hiding anything from you. You're a smart guy, you've got enough to figure out the rest."

"A puzzle. Wonderful."

"That's life for you. Good night, Sam."

"'Night."


	4. In Which a Snake in the Grass is Worth Two Biting Your Ass

Two weeks passed, more or less uneventfully. Sam spent most of his time hard at work in the social science section, with the occasional stop by the engineering and medical labs to try to lend a hand or participate in an experiment. They went off-world three more times. None of the mission were any more interesting than a trip to the grocery store, unless you were interested in alien species of gnats and mosquitoes. That changed one day when the major came around with word of another unscheduled mission briefing.

Sam's skin started to crawl as soon as he stepped into the briefing room. Landry and Daniel were seated at the table, but Sam's eyes immediately went to the woman next to Daniel. She was wearing a revealing leather tunic that would have immediately marked her as being from somewhere off-world even if Sam's own senses weren't screaming a warning. He knew that if she was sitting there then she couldn't be a danger, but he tensed up anyways and felt Dean do the same beside him.

"Aw, crap," Neill muttered from the rear.

"Gentlemen, have a seat," Landry said. Sam deliberately chose the seat furthest from the woman, not that it helped; she was already studying him so intently that he felt like a specimen under a microscope. "This is Anise of the Tok'ra. She's come to us with a request for assistance."

Neill snorted. "Of course she has."

Daniel quickly cut in. "Anise, this is SG-22: Major Evan Lorne, Neill Jackson, and Sam and Dean Winchester."

Anise smiled at them and said with a reverberating voice that sent chills up Sam's spine, "It is a pleasure to meet you all."

Dean would have leaped out of his chair and gone for one of his hidden knives, except Sam was already one step ahead and had stuck his arm out to keep him down. He settled for just growling, "What the hell is going on here?"

Sam started to explain, "The Tok'ra are… rebels, I suppose you could say. They take willing hosts and blend with them, instead of dominating them."

"Precisely," Anise said. She ducked her head and when she spoke again her voice was normal. "My name is Freya. I'm happy to meet you all as well."

"We've been working with the Tok'ra on and off for several years," Daniel said.

"More off than on lately," Neill said. "Why are you asking us for help? The last I heard, the Tok'ra weren't exactly feeling like being allies. Something about us being too brash and young and so on."

Anise frowned but nodded in acknowledgment. "That is accurate, to a certain extent. With Selmak and Jacob dead, I'm afraid there is not much support on the High Council for anything more than friendly diplomatic relations. However, there are still some of us, Freya and myself included, who feel that continued cooperation would be very productive."

Neill smiled. "You went behind their backs."

"My presence here is unsanctioned, yes."

Lorne glanced at Landry, who seemed content at remaining silent for the moment, then asked, "What exactly is it that you need?"

"For the past two years, I have been conducting research into the technology Ba'al uses to clone himself," Anise explained. "As you might imagine, it is of considerable interest to the Tok'ra."

"Your population problem," Neill guessed.

"Precisely. With access to cloning technology, we would be able to finally increase our numbers. We might even be able to clone Egeria and her host. We placed them in stasis immediately after their death, in the hopes that one day we could revive her without the use of a sarcophagus. I have been tracking down a facility belonging to one of Ba'al's scientists, which I believe may house key research into genetics and cloning. I finally found it two weeks ago. Unfortunately, while it is apparently abandoned, it has considerable security that has stymied all of my attempts to access it. I do not believe any of my colleagues would have any more success, which is why I came to you. I had hoped that Colonel Carter and Doctor Jackson would be able to assist me, or that I could make use of the transporter system aboard your ships."

Landry finally spoke up. "At the moment, SG-1 is busy searching for the sangrael. The _Odyssey_ is supporting them and other operations against the Ori, and the _Daedalus_ is currently between galaxies and won't be available anytime soon."

Anise nodded. "I completely understand that the war against the Ori must be your top priority. After all, cloning technology will do us no good if the Ori manage to conquer the galaxy."

Sam could see where this was going and why his team was there instead of one of the other teams that specialized in engineering and technology retrieval. Not only did he and Neill potentially have the skills to assist, but they were also more easily replaced when it came to other missions.

"What was the name of the Goa'uld in question?" he asked. There weren't a lot of scientifically-minded Goa'uld who did any genuine research or innovation; the vast majority settled for ripping off alien technology and each other. Ba'al was one of the notable exceptions, especially among the System Lords.

"His name is Pazuzu," Anise replied.

"Pazuzu," Sam repeated, mouth suddenly dry. He sat up straighter. That name he recognized all too well.

"Yes. He is a Goa'uld scientist and underlord. He was originally a servant of the System Lord Sokar and transferred his allegiance to Ba'al after the other system lords conquered Sokar's domain. The Tok'ra lost track of him thirty years ago. He had displeased Ba'al and it was commonly believed that he had retreated to one of his less important worlds for a few decades until he could regain Ba'al's favor. I have seen no indication that he remains active in the galaxy, and it is entirely possible that during the upheavals of the last decade he was killed."

Daniel stepped in at that point. "That's actually not the case. We found out during an, ah, incident," Daniel's eyebrows rose for a moment as he succinctly summarized a pitched battle into one word, "this summer that a Goa'uld using that name, among others, had apparently re-discovered Earth and decided to do some clandestine experiments here where no one else could notice. These appeared to be primarily aimed at creating something similar to a harcesis or hoc'taur, possibly with the aim of building an army or a better host."

"Plus the Anubis-y stuff," Neill added.

Daniel frowned. "If by 'Anubis-y' you mean he and a few select underlings somehow managed to achieve a limited degree of ascension, then yes, that too."

"Fascinating," Anise said. "That would match some of our own intelligence, which suggested that Pazuzu had been involved in several raids on the territory of Nirrti. It was one reason that Ba'al grew annoyed with him; he overstepped his bounds."

"Apparently he regarded Earth as a good testing ground, because of the size of the population and the genetic diversity. He had a little success in inducing some limited powers and genetic memory among several dozen, maybe even several hundred children, but in most of those cases the subjects ended up with mental instabilities or were killed as Pazuzu weeded out those he thought were weaker."

"This information certainly lends credence to my belief that the facility may be related to genetic research and cloning," Anise said, "but I fail to understand how it is of any assistance in gaining access to it. I assume that Pazuzu himself is dead?"

Dean grinned broadly. "Oh, yeah. I shot him right in the heart. Boy, was that satisfying."

Anise gave him an annoyed look. "I see."

"You know us Tau'ri," Neill said with a grin of his own. "We're always breaking things and killing people when the Tok'ra don't want us to."

Lorne sighed. "Guys, it's not the time for this."

Daniel, who was also giving Neill the evil eye, carefully said, "There is one known survivor of Pazuzu's experiments. He's shown some signs of having some small portions of the Goa'uld genetic memory, among other potential abilities."

Anise was quick on the uptake and looked at Sam. "And if he can access the correct memories, he may well know how to get through the defenses. An interesting plan."

"Hey, wait a second," Sam said, holding up his hands. "Just because I can speak the language and occasionally know things I shouldn't doesn't mean I'm going to know any secret codes or anything. It's not that reliable."

"He can't even move a roulette ball with his mind," Dean grumbled.

"I wouldn't move a roulette ball with my mind," Sam corrected. Dean wasn't completely off the mark, though. The most Sam had ever managed to do with his supposed 'advanced physiology' was make some lines waver on the brain monitors. "But anyways, the point is I don't know how much help I'm going to be."

Landry smiled. "Just give it your best shot. You'll have plenty of time to work on it."

"Assuming the hidden booby traps don't fry us," Neill said.

"We could use a memory recall device to assist him," Anise suggested. "It could cut down the time needed considerably."

"Yeah, how about not," Dean said. "I don't know what that is, but it sounds fishy to me."

"They're perfectly safe, Dean, at least as long as no bad guys get a hold of them," Neill replied cheerfully. "Of course, the device will probably leave out some sort of vital information that will result in us getting stuck on a hell-moon with no way to escape, but hey, that's just a small problem."

Sam shot them both exasperated looks and pointedly said, "I can make my own decisions about using it, you know. I am an adult." He didn't want to use the device, because he wasn't really sure how much he wanted to prod whatever might be floating around his head, but there was the principle of the matter to consider.

"Mr. Winchester and Major Lorne are free to decide how best to proceed, within the usual guidelines," Landry said. "You'll depart tomorrow at 1400 hours. That will give you this afternoon to make whatever arrangements you need for a possible long-term stay off-world. Standard check-in procedures will apply. As usual, avoid enemy contact, especially if it would mean drawing attention to the facility. Any questions?"

After a glance around the table Lorne said, "No, sir, not at the moment."

"Good. I'll leave you to making your preparations, then."

The team and Anise spent the next hour discussing their plans in more detail, from the lay of the land and other planetary information to what other information was available on the size and defenses of the facility itself. From time to time Freya would interject commentary of her own, although for the most part she seemed content to let Anise do the talking. It was almost creepier than just Anise speaking, really - just when Sam started to get used to the voice, Freya would say something and remind him that there were two people inside her head.

"Okay, I just want to get something clear," Dean said afterward, as he, Sam, and Neill walked down a corridor after the meeting. "She's got a snake in her head, but she's a good guy, right?"

Neill reluctantly said, "Well, the Tok'ra are mostly a bunch of jerks. Off the top of my head, I can think of two, maybe three I ever really liked, and two of them are dead. On the other hand, they're not evil. Take from that what you will."

"Sweet." Dean grinned and pointed back over his shoulder. "Because snake or not, shes' smokin'."

"Oh, that's great," Sam said. "Maybe you can single-handedly destroy our alliance with them through sexual harassment."

"Come on, Sammy, don't be such a downer. She was totally checking me out."

"Probably not just you," Neill muttered. "I'm warning you, she's nothing but bad news. Both of them are, in fact. Going down that path will only lead to tears."

"But it's a totally awesome path! I could handle anything she does. It'd be so worth it."

"Tears, wailing, gnashing of teeth, and so forth."

"God, you two are losers," Dean said. "I bet Lorne wouldn't be so pessimistic. He'd hit that like that." Dean snapped his fingers.

Neill exchanged a disbelieving look with Sam and said, "Is he really this dense?"

"Pretty much, yeah. It's even worse when you think of how good a hunter he is, and how many times people have thought the two of us are, you know. Together."

"What the hell are you two talking about?"

"Nothing," Sam and Neill said together.

Sam spent the rest of the day doing the thousand and one things that had to be done before leaving on a mission that could last a week or longer, almost all of which he had never had the need to think about before. Life on the road had sucked a lot of the time, yeah, and he preferred having somewhere to call home, but it also hadn't required making sure all the bills were paid, the refrigerator and cupboards cleared of perishables, and someone found to keep an eye on the place if he was gone indefinitely. It was more of the same the next morning, packing up tents and MREs and scientific instruments after filling out requisition forms rather than just rummaging through the trunk of the Impala. If there was one thing he hadn't missed after leaving Stanford for the road, it was bureaucracy and administrative games; the closest they had usually come was figuring out which fake ID to use on a given day.

"Well, what do you know," Neill said after they stepped through the gate. "New Zealand. That's different."

"I wonder if there's any orcs?" Dean asked.

Sam had to admit that the planet they were on did look a lot like a landscape out of _The Lord of the Rings_ movies. They were surrounded by rolling green grasslands and small hills as far as the eye could see, with patches for scrub brush and trees dotting the landscape here and there. The gate itself was on a bluff overlooks a small river that meandered off into the distance.

After a moment, Lorne said, "At least you can't burn everything down this time."

"That would be unlikely," Anised agreed. "This area is only occasionally be dry enough for grass fires." She pointed down at the river. "We need to follow this river. The location of the facility is a little over twenty minutes' walk from here."

"How did you find this place, anyways?" Sam asked as they began to walk. There was no easy path here, just knee-high blades of grass until they got down to the river itself and its wide, rocky banks. Sam, Dean, and Anise lead the group, with Neill and Lorne following along behind them.

"It took a considerable amount of research. Goa'uld society tends to document a great deal of what occurs in their realm, although usually inaccurately. I managed to extract useful information from records at one of Pazuzu's other worlds, as well as learn stories told among his former Jaffa and slaves who were involved in the site's construction."

"I'm surprised he didn't kill them all, if he wanted it secret," Neill remarked.

"Pazuzu was not a system lord; he did not have so many skilled workers that he could dispose of them frivolously. Unlike many Goa'uld, he was intelligent enough to recognize that fact. In any case, once I had a likely gate address, it was a matter of thoroughly examining the surrounding area."

Lorne frowned. "It'd take forever to search an entire planet, even with a ship."

Anise nodded. "Indeed, under normal circumstances that would be the case. However, I surmised that the facility would be near the gate, most likely within easy walking distance. By using the gate, he was far less likely to have the location be compromised. A ship could be followed, while the only way to track a person using the gate is to see the address or via a homing beacon."

"Clever."

"I imagine Pazuzu believed so, yes."

That line of conversation lasted a few more minutes before petering off into a somewhat awkward silence. Neither Lorne nor Neill seemed inclined to participate in any small talk with Anise, and to be honest Sam was still feeling a bit unnerved by her as well. Fortunately for interstellar relations - or perhaps unfortunately - Dean was more than willing to take up the slack.

"So Anise, Freya," he said with a cocky grin that, sadly, seemed to work miracles on women, "what exactly do Tok'ra do for fun?"

"We do not have a great deal of time for recreation," Anise replied. She ducked her head and Freya continued, "With that said, there are a number of enjoyable activities that we take part in when there is time to do so. Reading, art, games, other pleasurable things."

Dean's smile got broader. "That's cool. I'm all about enjoyable and pleasurable activities."

Sam groaned quietly and dropped back a bit to join the others. He knew how this was going to end up from experience: Dean would sweet-talk Freya, Anise, or maybe both of them for a while, and then before Sam could realize what was happening he would find himself locked out of their hotel room so Dean and his new friend could have some private time. It might be a tent tonight, but the point remained the same.

"Tears, wailing, gnashing of teeth," Neill sing-songed.

"Meet the new galaxy, same as the old one," Lorne quipped. "There's always an alien woman ready to home in on the most vulnerable member of the party. Or an alien man, on occasion. On the bright side, Dean does seem to see it coming."

"He doesn't just see it coming," Sam groused, "he's got a step-by-step plan to keep it coming."

They kept talking for a while, the sort of small talk that any group will descend into when they've only recently met and have too much time on their hands and nothing better to do. It was a change from hours in the car with Dean, where everything that could possibly be said had been explored a decade before. He learned that Lorne had a sister with two kids, had grown up in Washington in a 'weird miniature hippy commune', and had joined the Air Force in college and the Stargate program almost five years before. Neill was from Minnesota, 'more or less', was an orphan, had gone to MIT when he was sixteen, 'more or less', already had two masters degrees, 'more or less', and was part of the program for reasons that were 'above your security clearance'. It was maddeningly vague and Sam had the impression that Neill was teasing him deliberately, egging him on to discover more by himself.

Sam told them a little of himself, of course, or at least what he's comfortable with: mother dead, girlfriend dead, father dead, all at the hands of the same twisted yellow-eyed creature as part of some still-unknown plot; a life on the road where he was all but raised by Dean, with a too-brief interlude during college; hunting things that most people didn't think existed right up until they had confronted their nemesis one last time in the middle of Wyoming, just as SG-1 arrived to do the same thing.

After about twenty minutes, the river emptied into a wide, glittering lake. They climbed up a nearby hill and Anise signaled for them to stop, announcing, "We have arrived."

"Really?" Sam said, looking around in confusion. There was no building, no ruins, no anything to give a sign something was there, just a flat, open area. Despite that, he had a feeling that she was right.

"Hold up a second," Lorne said, slowly turning in a circle. "This is too flat and rectangular to be natural."

"You're right," Sam said, walking to the edge of the hilltop. The side slopped down at a smooth angle as well, and at the bottom was a surrounding ring of flattened land. "It's like a tumulus or the Indian mounds at Cahokia."

"Major Lorne is correct," Anise said. "I believe the facility itself is buried underneath us. The leveled areas here on top and down on the west side are of appropriate size for landing tel'tacs or an al'kesh. There is an entrance on that side as well."

"Show it to us," Lorne ordered.

Anise led them down the side opposite the one they had come up. Sure enough there was a small tunnel leading inside the mound, concealed among heavy brush. The walls were made of smooth stone blocks that were fitted tight together. It ended only a few yards inside in a wall with an inset area that, upon close examination, had the slightest seams around the edges like a sliding door. There were elaborate symbols engraved on it, the largest being a pair of interlocking triangles arranged like a six-pointed star around some sort of sigil.

"This part here looks like a Seal of Solomon," Sam said.

Dean frowned. "What, like a devil's trap? You sure we should be messing with this?"

"Chances are this is just another example of appropriated symbolism. We know of other Goa'uld who stole from that region. I don't recognize the rest of this, though." Sam looked at Anise. "Have you tried getting it open?"

"I have made several attempts using methods that commonly bypass Goa'uld security systems, but they have all failed. I am reluctant to open it by force, as doing so may set off traps or a self-destruct system."

"Have you done any scans?" Neill asked. "Maybe we could go in sideways somehow."

"I have considered that possibility, and brought tunneling crystals in case we need them. However, the mound has proven quite impenetrable to my scans, as there is a sensor-scattering field that covers an area several miles wide. With luck, the sensors you brought will be of more use, or perhaps Samuel can provide information on the internal layout."

"Yeeeaah," Sam said. "I don't know how likely that is to happen. Still, this entrance is probably a good place to start. I'll get out Doctor Jackson's notes and see if there's anything there that matches some of these symbols."

"Let's get camp set up first," Lorne said. "Anise, is there anywhere around here that's out of the way and not easily visible? I don't want to stay out here in the open."

"A wise precaution. There is a valley a short distance away. It is concealed from onlookers either here or at the gate, and has a source of fresh water."

They spent a while making camp in the site Anise had suggested, setting up tents, digging a fire pit, and erecting a small radio relay at the top of a nearby hill. Then, while the others scouted out the surrounding area, Sam gathered up some of the notebooks he had brought and went back to the tunnel with Anise to start figuring out how to get inside.

He studied the art and symbols on the 'door'. He studied the walls. He studied the inscriptions some more. He checked out the notebooks, the additional materials saved on his tablet PC, and what little information Anise had available. He tried inspecting the walls and door for any loose, movable areas, and had Neill and Dean do scans to see if there were any spots made of different materials. By the time the sun was starting to set, he found…

Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

The inscriptions were meaningless decorations, as far as he could tell. There were no stones to depress or hidden control panels to uncover. The engraved areas on the door were coated with a slightly different material than the rest of the surface, one that was used in many alien touch-sensitive controls, but all that told them was that the entire thing could be a complex keypad. There wasn't any convenient riddle or puzzle to give a clue about what should be entered into it.

It was, in short, a complete waste of everyone's time.

"Don't worry about it," Lorne said that evening as they sat around the campfire and ate MREs. "No one expects you to figure out everything immediately."

Sam yawned and nodded, although he couldn't shake the feeling that Daniel or one of the other _actual_ alien experts might have figured it out by now. On the bright side, they weren't working on a time limit or anything. No one was going to die because he wasn't able to do research fast enough and ferret out the answer.

Unsurprisingly, Dean made noises about how he wouldn't mind if Sam found someplace else to sleep for a while, and while Lorne gave him a vaguely disapproving look, he didn't come to Sam's rescue. Sam sighed and moved his sleeping bag over to Neill's tent, knowing that it was a safer bet than volunteering to take the first watch and hoping Dean would be finished by the time he got off. It actually worked out okay. Not only did Neill not snore, but he also didn't fart in his sleep, which was a huge improvement in Sam's view.

The second day of the mission was almost as useless as the first. Neill managed to use some sort of sonar system to determine that there was some sort of chamber under the mound, but without knowing more they couldn't risk tunneling in yet. That was the extent of the progress they made: nothing in either the notes or around the mound sparked any magical genetic memories in Sam's brain, no matter how hard he tried to conjure something up. The only people making any progress at all were Major Lorne, who had documented the site with his camera and was now sketching landscapes when not checking the perimeter, and Dean, who was bored but was making great progress on the 'getting laid' front. Sam despaired for the universe if supposedly advanced alien beings had such bad taste.

As lunch neared on day three, Sam and Neill were sitting on camp stools in front of the engraved door. They were brainstorming ways to get it open, for values of 'brainstorming' equal to 'Sam stared at it while Neill made increasingly silly suggestions.' Dean, Lorne, and Anise were outside, walking the perimeter and adjusting the sensors to see if they could get anything else to show up.

"Maybe it needs a dead bird or something," Neill said. "Like a sacrifice or something. Snakes can be a bit psycho like that sometimes."

"Mmm, yeah, let's hunt a bird and then slather blood all over the door," Sam replied. "How about not?"

"Have you tried just putting your hand on it somewhere and thinking 'open'?"

"Because that's not at all likely to set off a booby trap, is it?"

"We could just blow it up. C-4 solves a lot of problems."

"Out of the question."

Neill sighed and leaned forward. "You guys are no fun. You know that, right? It's always, 'no, you can't blow it up' or 'stop leaning on the priceless artifacts' or 'what do you mean, oops?' with your sort. Then you wake some sort of alien horror or piss off the locals and who has to clean it up? Me."

Sam looked askance at him. "Hang around people staring at alien walls a lot?"

"You have no idea."

"How's that usually work out?"

"Oh, you know." Neill waved at the door. "The archaeologist stares at the ruins for a few days while everyone else gets bored to death, until he suddenly gets an idea and solves the riddle or whatever. That's usually the point where the alien horror or pissed-off locals come in."

Sam sighed. "Wonderful."

The sound of soft footsteps caused Sam and Neill to look over their shoulders at the tunnel entrance. They saw Anise walking their way and shot each other equally weary and exasperated looks.

"Hello," she said, coming to a stop at Sam's side. "Have you had any luck?"

"Not a bit, no."

"Unfortunate. Mister Jackson, Major Lorne would like your assistance in reconfiguring the sonic sensor units for another scan of the entry area."

"Right." Neill put his arms over his head and stretched. "I'll be there in a second."

"Good." Anise nodded and said to Sam, "Perhaps we should consider using the memory recall device."

"Maybe," Sam reluctantly said. He wasn't convinced that there were any relevant memories to recall, even if he did have extra languages and vague recollections about technology floating around his head. He was also pretty sure that he didn't want anyone, even his brother - _especially_ his brother - in a position to watch his memories get rifled through. On the other hand, he was getting nowhere as it is.

"I assure you that it is perfectly safe," she said.

Neill coughed. "More or less."

"Completely safe, especially in the hands of a trained person such as myself," Anise said more firmly, a layer of annoyance underlying the reverb in her voice. She placed her hand on Sam's shoulder, near the crook of his neck. He felt a moment of excitement before his brain caught up with his body and reminded him of the snake in her head. "I completely understand your reluctance, given that your previous encounters with advanced technology have been unpleasant, but I assure you that it does not need to be uncomfortable. If there is anything I can do to help you help you relax, I am more than willing to do it."

"I thought you were helping Dean relax," Sam said before he could stop himself. He could feel his face growing red as soon as the words left his mouth, and it only got worse when Neill snickered.

"Freya has been enjoying his company, yes."

Sam closed his eyes tight. He didn't want to know the answer, but it was like looking at a car crash: he just couldn't help himself. "Excuse me?"

"Freya finds him physically attractive and charming. Personally, I value intellectual capability more highly, although a fit body is certainly a positive attribute." Then she squeezed her hand gently.

There it was, everything Sam never wanted to know about the practicalities of two people living in one body. "Ah, listen, I'm flattered," he said, "but I'm really not interested."

Anise frowned. "Is there something wrong?"

There were so many ways to answer _that_ question that Sam was left momentarily speechless. Neill came to his rescue, putting an over his shoulders and saying, "He's gay."

"Exactly," Sam said, snatching at the escape route. "It's not you, it's me."

"I do not understand," Anise said with a quirked eyebrow.

"It means he likes guys, not women," Neill explained. Sam suspected that if he were to look, he would find that Neill had a huge shit-eating grin.

"Ah." Anise tilted her head slightly, like she was studying them. "Selmak had mentioned at times that the Tau'ri insisted on discrete categorization of sexuality. It seems odd and unnecessarily limiting. Perhaps —"

"You just leave any relaxing to me," Neill continued, cutting her off. "A little backdoor action might take his mind off things."

"Backdoor action," Anise repeated.

"You see, when two men love each other very much, or have healthy amount of lust, sometimes they'll…."

Sam tuned Neill out, not just to save his sanity but because something Neill had said was nagging at him. Sam went over it word by word, until suddenly something clicked in the back of his brain. It was like a dam had broken and flooded his mind with exactly what he needed to know.

"Backdoor action," Sam shouted. He jumped to his feet and staggered, dizzied by the rush of information. "Backdoor. That's it."

"Wonderful," Neill said. "I think we broke him."

"Come on, I've got an idea," Sam said. He clicked his radio and called for Dean and Lorne to join them and made his way back out of the tunnel. As soon as they arrived he explained, "We've been going about this entire thing the wrong way. This entrance is too obvious. Hell, it's probably not even an entrance at all. I bet the only thing inside is a bunch of lasers and bombs and poison gas."

Lorne looked more resigned at this revelation than particularly surprised or dismayed. "So the mission is a bust, then? This place is a just a decoy?"

"No. Yeah. At least I think so," Sam said. Realizing that wasn't so much an answer as a non-answer, he clarified, "The mound is a decoy, but not the planet. The facility is nearby, so that anyone following Pazuzu would find this place and not the real thing. We need to go… that way."

Lorne blinked and scratched his head. "Okey dokey. Lead the way, then."

"Well, this is different," Dean muttered as Sam lead the team eastward, parallel to the lake shore. "Wandering around a planet because my brother's head was messed with by an alien. You don't get to do that every day."

"Dean?"

"Sam?"

"Shut up."

After five minutes they reached a steep bluff. Despite the obstacle Sam was increasingly confident that he knew what he was doing. He stopped suddenly and scanned the side of the bluff until he spotted what at first looked like a pile of fallen rocks. When they climbed up to take a closer look they found the mouth of a cave hidden among them. Sam took them inside, but it ended only a dozen feet in a chamber barely big enough for all of them.

"This is impressive," Neill said, shining his light around.

"Nicest cave I've ever seen," Dean agreed.

Sam ignored them, feeling along the wall until his hands finally found a rock that turned beneath them. Part of the floor seemed to dissolve, leaving a clear area in the center of the chamber. It was circular, with a inner light area surrounded by a ring of dark metal.

"Nice," Lorne said. "Good job, Sam."

"What is it?" Dean asked. "An elevator or something?"

"Transport rings," Anise answered.

"Can you activate them?" Lorne asked. At Sam's nod, he waved and said, "All right, let's see where they go."

Once everyone was within the rings, Sam twisted another rock and hurried to join them. A set of rings shot up from the floor and there was flash of light. Suddenly the team was standing in the center of a room with dark orange metal walls, not much bigger across than the rings themselves. The only features were lights overhead and a large blast door.

"Huh," Neill said. "Anyone see a doorbell?"

A sudden hum filled the room and a device over the door suddenly lit up. A beam swept across the room and pointed at each of them in turn, landing on Sam last. He held his breath and waited to see what would happen, wondering if he'd just gotten them all killed. There were no lasers, explosions, or poison gas; instead the door rumbled open and revealed a long hallway that lit up after a moment. There were columns near the walls at regular intervals and not too far away it turned away at a ninety degree angle.

"Lady and gentlemen," he said with a relieved smile, "let me present the super-secret underground lair of Pazuzu."

"Sweet!" Dean grinned and clapped Sam on the back. "You wouldn't happen to have next week's lotto numbers in your gigantic brain, would you?"

"Great powers, great responsibility, Dean," Sam said. "I'm pretty sure the lottery isn't covered there."

Lorne peered out through the door. "Sam, do you know the layout?"

"Um." Sam thought about it. "No, I can't say that I do. I bet there's some kind of control room somewhere, and this big corridor has to lead somewhere, doesn't it?"

Lorne didn't look surprised at the response. "Sounds as good a place to start as any. Sam and I will take point. Neill, watch our six."

"Why is it," Neill asked as they made their way down the corridor, "that Goa'uld can never have a simple layout? I mean, look at this place. Columns everywhere, side corridors out the wazoo, lots of dark shadowy places to hide in. Even their ships are like this." He paused then added, "So are Tok'ra tunnels, come to think of it."

He was right; the halls were all needlessly convoluted, there were gilded columns lining the sides of the widest ones, and there were alcoves, cubbies, and secondary corridors all over the place. For a supposedly secret research facility there seemed to be a huge amount to wasted space. Sam wondered whether it was possible there had been servants - and test subjects - living here and whether Pazuzu had taken some to Earth or just eliminated them all; try as he might he couldn't recall the answer.

"You are familiar with Tok'ra tunnels?" Anise asked.

"I've read some reports," Neill replied.

"I see. Our tunnels are designed to be difficult to locate and easily defended. Goa'uld often have similar architectural goals. Some Tok'ra scientists believe it is a holdover in our genetic memories from when the Unas were used for hosts. They preferred caves as nests, where there were many branches and escape routes." Anise looked around. "I must admit, I sometimes find Tau'ri bases unpleasantly straightforward, if rather more aesthetically pleasing when it comes to decoration."

"Tell me about it," Dean said, staring at a bronze statue of some sort of six-legged horse-crab-thing.

"Hey, I think there's something up ahead," Sam said, stopping as they passed through an archway.

Before him was a large space that was half throne room, half control center. Along one wall were several computer consoles and large displays, while opposite them was an ornate throne raised on a dais. The most striking feature of all was the dome of the ceiling, which had clear panels that looked out into dark water, with just a bare glimmer of sunlight visible far above.

"Um, when I said secret underground lair," Sam said, "I apparently meant secret underwater lair."

"Nice trick," Neill remarked. "It'd be the last place anyone would look."

"Maybe the decor's supposed to scare off or blind who does find it," Dean said. He wandered over to the throne and peered at it. "Seriously, gold on silver on more gold? Is this supposed to be impressive?"

Lorne chuckled. "I've seen worse. At least there aren't any drapes. Sam, Anise, check out the computers and see if you can find out for sure what was going on here."

"Okay, sure." Sam went over to the largest of the computer consoles, with Anise joining him a moment later. It lit up at his touch and the displays began to fill with line after line of Goa'uld text. The vast majority of it was utterly and completely meaningless to Sam, although he could understand bits and pieces of it. It wasn't in code or anything, but rather simply incredibly complex technical information and terminology that he probably wouldn't have understood even if it was written in English.

Anise had less trouble than he was. "Some of this does appear to be related to genetics research, although along paths that that I am not entirely familiar with."

"What about cloning?" Lorne asked behind them.

"I am unsure, Major. If you would give us some time to examine the contents of the computer archives, then I will attempt to determine if that is the case."

Sam moved over to one of the other consoles, trying to find something that he could understand. It was worse than any research he had ever done, either at school or during hours spent at libraries trying to hunt down obituaries or folklore. The problem was that the entire database seemed only loosely organized, either to obfuscate the contents or because Pazuzu was too lazy to do it properly.

"I think I've found a map," he said after a minute. The complex was large, with hundreds of rooms spread across six levels. From what he could tell, there were rooms and apartments on the topmost level, then below that various laboratories, servants' quarters, cells, storage rooms, and utilities.

"Can you put it onto a computer?" Lorne asked. "The last thing I want is for us to get lost while exploring the place."

"Uh, sure. I can try, at least."

"Hold on a second," Neill said. He studied the console then pulled a set of cables from his vest. One end was a standard USB plug, while the other had a crystal that slid into a slot in the console. Sam handed him his tablet and Neill got it connected. "You should be good to go."

"What, really?" Sam asked. "It's that simple?"

Neill smirked. "Thanks to ten years of work by certified super-geniuses, yeah."

"Huh."

It took Sam a minute to figure out how to find the files he wanted using the tablet's interface, but from there it was just a matter of dragging and dropping. Once that was done, Neill started trying to transfer the maps to his own tablet and the PDA Lorne was carrying, which was apparently far more difficult than interfacing human and Goa'uld technology and left Neill muttering about the evils of Microsoft.

Sam went back to searching. He eventually managed to pull up some kind of system log, which showed that the facility had been abandoned just under twenty-five years before. It lined up with the suspected time of Pazuzu's arrival on Earth, more or less. Trying to follow that thread and figure out what Pazuzu had been planning on doing, Sam stumbled across something completely different.

"Huh," Sam said, looking at the strange, angular script that had replaced the Goa'uld writing on his display. It was familiar and the meaning of some parts seemed to be hovering just out of reach.

"Huh? Huh, what?" Neill looked up from the computers. "Is this the good kind of huh, or is it that kind of huh that - huh." Neill's brows scrunched up. "I've seen that before somewhere."

"So have I. In person, I mean, not just in my head."

"It's not Ancient," Neill said. "Not Asgard, either, but…"

"But it goes along with them somehow."

"Exactly." Neill nodded. Suddenly he said, "Heliopolis."

"The languages of the four races. It's either Nox or Furling."

"Furling," Neill said firmly. "It matches the writing on that gateway on, on, P1X-whatever the hell."

Sam quickly started to flip through other files in the set of folders. Most were in Furling, but he quickly hit upon one in a language he could read. "Uh, let's see. From the files that come before this, it looks like Pazuzu had just made a major breakthrough and recovered some sort of Furling artifact. Looks like he was trying to get at it for a while so he could use it to increase his power and standing. The weird thing is that just after he brought it to the lab for study, most of the Goa'uld files stop and the Furling ones begin. Maybe whatever he found was so impressive that he immediately left to implement a test on Earth."

"What the fuck is a Furling?" Dean asked.

"They're advanced aliens, or at least they hung out with advanced aliens," Sam said. He turned around and frowned. "Dean, what are you doing?"

Dean, who was lounging on the throne, looked like he didn't understand the question. "I wanted to sit down. Something wrong with that?"

Sam sighed and decided that now was not the time to get into it with Dean. "The Furlings were allies of the Ancients, the Asgard, and the Nox. The thing is no one's never seen one, as far as we know. We don't have a clue what they're like at all and our allies aren't talking." Sam looked at Lorne. "Sir, we need to get Doctor Jackson or some of the other linguists here. We could learn more about the Furlings in ten minutes with this than we have in ten years."

Lorne smiled and checked his watch. "We've got a check-in in twenty minutes. When the SGC dials in, we'll request additional manpower. How about we head topside now? That way we can take a couple minutes to get the controls marked clearly."

Sam wanted to stay where he was and keep searching the information. It was the first real chance he had gotten to trying and figure out exactly what Pazuzu had done to him as a baby and so many answers could be sitting there at his finger tips. On the other hand, it would be embarrassing for the major to get locked out, and it wasn't like the computers hadn't been sitting there for twenty-five years already. A few more minutes wouldn't hurt.

"Sounds good to me," he said.

"Great. Anise, keep on looking for what you need. Neill, help her out if you can and keep an eye on things. Dean… just stay there and don't touch anything." As they set off down the corridor to the ring room, Lorne said, "This is great. Even SG-1's never found any solid information on the Furlings. Landry's gonna love it."

"I know," Sam said. "They'll have to pry Dr. Jackson out of here with a crowbar once he gets here, Ori or no Ori."

"You said the snake was doing research into psychic powers, right? I wonder if that'll give us any help in taking down priors." Lorne grinned. "We might be looking at commendations for this one."

Sam chuckled. "Maybe the general will start letting us do more than poke around deserted planets for a change."

They came around the last bend in the corridor leading the entry chamber when the rings activated ahead of them. Lorne's quick reactions probably saved Sam's life as he grabbed his arm and wrenched him back the way they had come. They heard the woosh of the rings transporting something in and then the tromp of boots on the floor.

Lorne pulled a small mirror from his vest and they used it to cautiously look around the corner. There were a half-dozen Jaffa standing near the rings, and a few seconds later the rings activated again. They deposited more Jaffa, along with two others: a tall, handsome man with dark skin and a goatee, and a woman with long, dirty-blonde hair. The woman Sam didn't recognize, but the man he knew all too well.

"Oh, shit," Lorne whispered.

Sam could just barely hear the two Goa'uld talking, along with the rings activating a third time.

"Do you still believe this is a sensor malfunction, Ruby?" Ba'al asked. His voice was strong and rich, and he sounded amused, even friendly. It wasn't what Sam would have imagined, although his own prior experience told him that not only could Goa'uld be almost charming, it was usually a bad sign when they were.

"It was the mostly likely answer, my lord, given our previous failures to gain access," Ruby replied. "I had begun to believe only Pazuzu could bypass the security."

"Well, either he is not as dead as we thought, or someone else has managed what you could not," Ba'al replied. "Jaffa, kree. Search the complex. I want whoever is here captured alive."

"Tell me there's another way out of here," Lorne asked as they ran down the corridor, with the sound of boots echoing behind them.

"It's a Goa'uld's lair," Sam said. "Of course there is. I think I saw something on the lower levels that looked like an escape tunnel."

As soon as they reached the control room, Lorne yelled to the rest of the team, "We've got to move. Ba'al's here."

Anise gasped softly and pulled her zat from her hip; a flash of pure hatred flashed across Neill's face and disappeared as quickly as it had appeared; Dean stood and said, "Balls?"

"Follow me," Sam said, leading them out a different door than the one they had entered through and moving as much on instinct as on memory of the map he had seen. They moved as fast as they could and still maintain any semblance of stealth, down one corridor, into the second passage to the left, and then left at the next intersection. They almost made it to where Sam thought the stairs where when Jaffa appeared at the other end of the hall. The team raised their weapons and mowed them down before the Jaffa could even bring up their staff weapons.

"Well, so much for sneaking out the back," Dean said.

"We've got to move," Lorne said. "There's no way the rest didn't hear that."

Sam nodded the way to go and they were moving again, Lorne and Neill to the front and Dean guarding their rear. They go down a level and then across, because of course a snake couldn't just make one stairwell between all the floors like a normal person, and down again until they finally reached the lowest, fifth level. Sam directed them into what looked a storage room and after moving aside some crates revealed a hatch in the floor.

"I think this leads to the escape tunnel," Sam said after closing and locking the storage room door. "It should get us to the gate."

"We can't leave yet," Neill said. "I don't know what Ba'al wants with this place, but it can't be good."

"Agreed," Lorne said. "The question is what to do. There were at least twelve more Jaffa, plus two Goa'uld. That's not good odds."

"We should also consider our own mission," Anise said. "There was considerable research information that might be invaluable to our cloning efforts. It should be retrieved."

"The same goes for Furling data," Sam added.

Lorne frowned but nodded slowly. "Is there any way to get it from someplace other than the control room?"

"The main computer core," Sam said. "If I remember right, it's just a couple levels up."

"We grab what we want and then blow it with C-4," Neill suggested.

"There is no guarantee that there are not backup copies elsewhere in the facility," Anise said. "By the time reinforcements could arrive, Ba'al may manage to get them and escape."

"That's great. That's just great," Lorne said. He thought for a few moments and then a sly smile slowly spread across his face. "Anise, you said you have tunneling crystals, right?"

"I do."

"Can they be remotely activated?"

"Not normally, although it may be possible to jury-rig a method for doing so," she said. "Why do you ask?"

"I was hoping we could do a bit of digging upwards."

"Ah. I see now." Anise smiled. "Even if I cannot devise a remote detonation method, the crystals can be set to dig slowly. It would be possible to use that as a time delay of sorts."

"Great." Lorne looked at Sam, Dean, and Neill. "Anise and I will find somewhere to plant the crystals. You three will take care of the computer core. Get in and out as fast as you can. If you can't get the data within a minute or two, pull back to here. "

Sam gritted his teeth but couldn't find fault with the logic. "Okay. How are we going to do this?"

Lorne waved for Sam to hand over his tablet and called up the facility schematics. "These look like maintenance crawlways. If we stick to those as much as possible, we should be able to move around without being noticed. In my experience, most Goa'uld and Jaffa never even remember they exist."

"I wouldn't count on that with Ba'al," Neill said quietly.

"It's still a better chance than walking through the halls," Lorne replied. "The nearest access hatch should be… just down the hall. We'll meet back here in… twenty minutes, tops. If you don't hear from Anise and I by that time, return to the SGC and get reinforcements."

"You want us to leave you behind," Neill stated flatly. "How about not?"

"Yeah, screw that," Dean said. "We'll come find you."

"No, you will _not_," Lorne growled. He stared straight at Neill as he said, "You will return to Stargate Command. You will inform the officer on duty of what's going on. At that point, feel free to return with a battalion of marines, but above all else you will get the civilians to safety and make sure that measures are taken to prevent Ba'al from getting anything useful, like, say, prisoners, off the planet. Am I understood?"

Neill closed his eyes. "Yes, sir."

"That's a load of bullshit," Dean said. "If they catch you, we can't just leave you in their hands. These fuckers don't exactly treat prisoners well."

"Mr. Winchester, it will do none of us any good if we all get captured and the SGC doesn't realize it until Ba'al's got us locked in a dungeon halfway across the galaxy. I'm sure he'd love to take apart your brother and see what makes him tick," Lorne explained patiently. His eyes narrowed. "If you have a problem, you are free to discuss it once we're home, but until then you will either follow orders or I'll zat you myself and leave you here until the rest of us have done our jobs. What's it going to be?"

Dean glared at Lorne but after a moment nodded sullenly.

"Thank you. Let's get this show on the road."

They opened the door and cautiously peered out. Seeing the coast was clear for the moment they hustled down the hall to another room that smelled like it was part of the facility's waste management system. Lorne popped open a panel on the wall to reveal the Goa'uld equivalent of a Jeffries tube. He crawled inside, followed by Anise, Neill, Sam, and Dean. They split up at the first intersection to head for their separate destinations.

Crawling through the tunnels did not go as smoothly as it might have.

"Fuck!" Sam said as he hit his head for the fourth time while trying to negotiate the transition from a narrow ladder to another tunnel. "Who the fuck designed these things?"

"They probably weren't planning for Gigantor to use them," Dean said behind him. "Maybe if you were more normal-sized you wouldn't have so many problems."

"Fuck you, Dean."

"I bet it was a cost cutting measure," Neill said. "It's not like the snake was going to crawl through these himself, so instead of full-size passages he built these and bought some extra glittery tapestries. Bad luck for any super-sized slaves, though."

"Fuck you, too."

"Speaking of fucked, as in 'we are so', are we even going in the right direction anymore?" Neill asked. "It feels like we've been in this maze for hours."

Sam checked his watch and squeezed low under a cross beam. "It's not even been ten minutes, and I'm positive this is the right way. We should almost be there."

"Don't tell me you're going to start asking if we're there yet every ten seconds," Dean said. "I'll shoot you if I have to listen to that again."

"I was six," Sam said, "and I only did it one time, so I don't know why you're still complaining."

"Once was enough."

Neill chuckled. "I hear that."

"You have an annoying little brother too?"

There was a momentary pause before Neill answered. "Something like that, yeah."

"God save me from asshole older brothers," Sam muttered. He paused to pull his tablet from where it was wedged between him and his vest. "The next exit we reach is probably as close as we're going to get, unless you two would rather we just keep crawling along so you can have some more fun."

"Got it," Neill said. A few dozen yards down they reached a hatch. Neill signaled for silence and pressed his ear against the hatch to listen for the tell-tale tromp of Jaffa boots. Once he was satisfied he popped the latches and wiggled out into the hall.

"We're clear," he said softly a moment later. Sam and Dean scrambled out after him.

"It should be, ah," Sam said, looking up and down the corridor and trying to get his bearings, "down this hall, around that corner, and five doors down on the right."

"You sure?" Dean asked. "You're not always so hot with maps."

Sam clenched his teeth to keep from screaming so loudly that every Jaffa within a thousand light-years could hear him. He admired and loved his brother. He would not shoot him, no matter how tempting it was.

"Yes, I'm sure," Sam ground out. "If that's not it, than it's because the map lied."

Neill paused mid-step. "You know, I wouldn't put it past the snake to label something 'computer core' and put a bottomless pit there. Maybe one with spikes or scorpions."

"Only one way to find out," Dean said, reaching the door and opening it up. He did not fall into a bottomless pit, no poison darts came flying through the air, and no giant boulder rolled out to squish him into a much less annoying paste. Instead, beyond the door was a long, narrow room with columns that housed banks of crystals embedded in the walls at regular intervals. It was dimly lit, with only a single light above a freestanding computer station at the far end and the glow of the crystal illuminating the room.

"Dean, keep an eye out," Neill ordered, waving for Sam to follow him over to the station. He got both of their tablets plugged into the computer and said, "Give me your C-4, I'll get it planted."

"Do you have any idea where to stick it?" Sam asked as he handed over the brick he was carrying.

"Not exactly," Neill said with a toothy grin. "But I figure if I take everything we have and spread it evenly through the room, it'll make a big enough bang."

"That's true," Sam said, thinking of how much C-4 they had. Dean alone had probably picked up a pound of the stuff, like usual. All things considered, Sam decided he should be more worried by his brother's love of high explosives than about not having enough of it.

Sam located the Furling data and started downloading it onto his computer, then used Neill's to begin copying the stuff Anise had been looking at. He found himself tapping his foot impatiently as the files transferred. It wasn't slow per se, but the files were so huge that it felt like he was working on dial-up, with the added bonus of having to worry about getting caught any moment.

"How are you guys doing?" a crackling voice said.

Sam jumped like a spooked cat. It wasn't until Dean started chuckling that he remembered to breathe again.

"We're on site and getting the data, Major," Neill said into his radio, while looking at Sam with a bemused expression.

Sam scowled back at him and clicked his own radio over. "We're about… oh, hell, I don't know. This progress bar keeps stopping and starting. It shouldn't be too long."

"We've already got our tunneling crystals rigged," Lorne said. "We're gonna head back to the escape hatch. If you're not finished in a couple minutes, do the same."

"I don't think that'll be," Sam started, cutting short when his tablet beeped and an error message popped up to tell him he'd run out of hard drive space. "Long. Well, crap."

"What's the matter?" Lorne asked.

"My computer's out of space, and we're not anywhere near done with getting it all."

"Wonderful."

A few seconds later, Lorne's voice was replaced with Anise's. "Samuel, have you gotten the data I require?"

"Some of it, but I bet we're not going to get much of it, either."

Softly, Neill said, "I say we wipe her stuff and get as much of what we need as we can." At Sam's incredulous look, he shrugged and spread his hands. "It's what she would do. I'm just saying, the Furling stuff is probably more useful."

"Maybe, but that doesn't mean it'd be right," Sam retorted. He spread his hands to indicate the entire room. "And in case you haven't noticed, there's about a million super-advanced alien storage crystals in here, so even an extra sixty gigs would only be a tiny scratch of the surface of what we're leaving behind anyways."

Neill turned away and eyed the crystal banks. "You know, maybe we can figure out which of these have the stuff we want and take 'em home with us."

"They could be labeled," Sam said with a doubtful frown. There was no way it would be that easy. Hell, his own computer at home wasn't that simple.

"Uh, guys," Dean said at the door, "I think there's someone coming." Sure enough, the tromp of Jaffa boots could be heard, slowly growing louder with each second.

"Hide," Neill ordered.

Sam looked around the barren room, even as he unhooked the computers and picked them up. "Hide where?"

"Uh. Shit." Neill waved Dean over, directed him to one corner, and went to the other himself. He squeezed into the space between the walls and the last computer bank. "This'll work, I think."

"For you, maybe," Sam said. There was no way he was small enough to fit completely behind one, even if there was a corner to spare. The ones near the door would be in plain few if someone stepped even a foot inside, as opposed to, say, the three feet that the back corners might be concealed from. He ended up laying flat on the floor and crawling behind the computer console. He tried to scrunch up as much as he could but he still poked out a little bit. He just hoped the dark lighting would be enough to keep a casual observer from spotting him.

The door slid open. Standing there was the Goa'uld woman who had come with Ba'al; behind her Jaffa marched past and checked the door across the hall. Her eyes swept across the room and Sam froze up like a scared rabbit, not even breathing.

"Azazel probably didn't even take the time to wipe any of this," Ruby muttered to herself. She shook her head. "Sloppy. Honestly, quality bosses are so hard to find these days." She looked around again and for a heart-stopping moment she looked right at Sam. It had to have been an optical illusion or something, because instead of calling for help she shouted, "Jaffa! Continue to the next corridor!"

The Goa'uld and her minions stomped off. Once it sounded like they were safely away, Sam let out the breath he had been holding.

"You know, I'd forgotten how much fun this is," Neill said after a moment.

Dean snorted. "Yeah, it was barrels of monkeys."

"You know what you said about finding the right crystals?" Sam asked. "Forget it. I think we need to get our asses out of here before they come back or find the exit themselves."

"Good call. I'll take point" Neill said. He went to the door and peered out, then waved for them to follow. "At least they went the opposite way we need to."

"It's nice that something's going right," Sam said as they ran down the hall, around the corner, and almost straight into Ba'al.

Ba'al stared at them. They stared back. His eyes flashed. They lifted their weapons and opened fire; he was just a bit faster and took a few moments to smirk as they emptied their clips into his personal shield before he raised his hand and sent them flying back into the wall. Neill's head hit with a sickening thud and Sam was pretty sure that his left shoulder was dislocated. He tried to move his arm and a bolt of agony confirmed that, yep, it was definitely dislocated.

"Well, well, well," Ba'al said. He leisurely strolled their way. "What have we here? I should have known there would be Tau'ri involved in this."

"Fuck you," Sam spat, pulling his sidearm and emptying it at Ba'al. He may as well have been shooting spitballs for all the effect it had.

"You were a host once? Or… perhaps not." Ba'al tilted his head, a cat studying something interesting and possibly edible. "What are you? No, don't bother answering. I'm sure I'll enjoy finding out myself."

"Stay the hell away from my brother, you scaly son of a bitch," Dean growled, climbing to his knees.

"Brothers? How delightful." Ba'al showed broad, toothy grin. "Siblings can be so interesting."

Dean's hand moved down lightning-quick, not to his holster but to his boot, and in the blink of an eye there was a knife embedded in Ba'al's chest. Ba'al staggered back against one of the walls and wrenched it loose. A human would have been down and drowning in his own blood; Ba'al seemed more pissed than anything.

They didn't wait to see how long it'd take him to recover. Dean helped Sam sling Neill into a fireman's carry and up off the floor and then they were running.

"Jaffa, kree! Tau'ri!" Ba'al bellowed behind them.

"Where do we go, Sam?" Dean shouted as they barreled down the corridor.

"Left!" Sam replied. "There should be a stair at the end of the next hall!" He reached to toggle his radio and nearly lost his hold on Neill in the process. "Major, we've got a problem!"

"What?" Lorne replied.

"We've been made! Are you back to the exit?"

"Yeah, we are. What about you?"

"We'll be there in a minute, but we may need a distraction." As if to emphasize the point a pair of Jaffa appeared down the hall and were gunned down by Dean an instant later. "Blow the tunneling charges."

"Right." Lorne sighed and there was all but an audible eye-roll. "One distraction, coming up. If we all drown, it's your fault."

A few seconds later there was a muffled rumble from somewhere above. Sam didn't have a clue how big the new topside entrance was or how fast the facility would fill up. On the one hand, it was pretty big; on the other, most of the doors were closed and they were heading for the lowest level. He really, really hoped the escape tunnel's door was water-tight.

They found the stairs, where a miniature waterfall was already forming, and rushed down them. They passed two more dead Jaffa, one bullet-ridden and the other a little crispy-looking, and made it to the door where Lorne and Anise stood guard.

"Did you blow the computer?" Lorne asked.

"Hold on," Sam said. He carefully sat Neill down and grimaced at the way his head lolled. He took a moment to check his pulse and was only a little reassured when he found one; Sam had seen the results of head blows enough to know even a minor one could have bad consequences. He shook it off and went through Neill's vest until he found what he was looking for.

"Fire in the hole," Sam said with a grin as he flipped the detonator's safety cover and threw the switch. There was a satisfying thump and quiver in the floor.

Lorne nodded. "Let's get out of here. Dean, open the hatch up."

Dean felt around the end of the hatch until he found a latch. There was a ladder leading downward into a dark chamber. Dean went down first while Sam and Lorne hastily tied a rope around Neill so they could lower him down. By the time all five of them were safely at the bottom, there was a growing flow of water coming under the door and trickling down on their heads through the open hatch.

"This better go somewhere, or we're screwed," Dean said. He shined a light around. "Actually… dude, where's this so-called tunnel?"

There was no obvious hallway or door, that was for sure. Just when Sam was starting to think that Pazuzu had been a big enough bastard to create an escape tunnel with no tunnel, he spotted a standard ring control panel on one wall. He looked upwards and sure enough, there was a ring-shaped area a few yards away from the hatch.

"An intelligent design," Anise commented when he pointed it out. "Rings would be easier to conceal and could be made to function in one direction only."

"I guess we get to see where that goes," Lorne said. He took position at the controls and once they were all under the rings he triggered them and jumped inside.

The rings dropped down and with a now-familiar flash deposited them elsewhere. Sam found himself staring right at the sun and he turned his head away just in time to see Anise calmly zat a pair of surprised Jaffa standing a few feet.

"This is convenient," Lorne remarked. The gate, the DHD, and the charred remains of the MALP were only a few yards away from the circle of disturbed earth they stood in. In the distance, the sleek shape of an al'kesh could just be seen sitting atop the artificial hill. "Sam, dial it up. I don't want to stick around to see if anyone else made it out."

"Yes, sir."

A short time later they were back at the SGC, sitting in the infirmary. Sam's shoulder was back where it was supposed to be; it had been the most pleasant re-location that he could remember thanks to the liberal use of high-quality painkillers on Doctor Lam's part. Neill was still unconscious but the doctors were confident he hadn't suffered any serious damage, saying it was fairly normal following an encounter with a hand device.

"So basically," Landry said after Lorne had finished delivery a brief preliminary report, "you sat on your asses for a couple days before finding your way in, and as soon as you managed to do so Ba'al showed up. Then you blew it all up, including with the only source of information we've ever had on the Furlings."

"Not all of it," Sam said. "We saved a little. And some genetics stuff, too."

"For which I am most grateful," Anise said. "Granted, now that I've had a chance to review the sections you copied they do not seem to involve cloning, but it is still intellectually interesting."

"That's wonderful," Landry said dryly. "Files written in Furling, a language we can't translate more than a few words of, and genetics research that doesn't actually involve what you were supposed to be looking for. A successful mission if I've ever seen one."

"Hey, we stopped the bad guys from getting anything," Dean protested. "That totally makes up for a few little problems."

"There is that," Landry admitted. "Good thinking on the method, too. It's inaccessible to anyone without SCUBA gear, but with any luck, one of our ships can beam something useful up."

"Thank you, sir," Lorne said.

"I'll hold off on a full debrief until all of you are up and about. Just promise me that the next time you get your hands on alien technology you won't flood it or burn it to the ground."

"We'll do our best, sir."

"See that you do."

Landry walked away, shaking his head and saying something to himself that Sam couldn't hear. Sam really couldn't blame him for being a bit conflicted about the results. He wasn't exactly thrilled about them, either. They had just blown up one of the biggest anthropological finds of the decade, something that came in not far behind Atlantis and the gate itself, and taken out records that might have finally given some more solid information on what had been done to him by Ol' Yellow-Eyes or Pazuzu or whatever the hell the snake's actual name was. On the other hand, everyone had made it out alive, or at least everyone but a bunch of unlucky Jaffa and, with any luck, a Ba'al clone. That last had to count for something.

"Okay, guys, why don't you head off, take a shower, maybe grab a bit to eat," Lorne said. "I'll take first watch and get started on filing out the paperwork for all the equipment we probably just lost."

"Watch?" Dean asked.

"We've got a man down," Lorne said, nodding across the infirmary to the bed Neill lay in. "Someone sticks around until he wakes up. It's the rules."

"I'll take the next watch, then," Sam said. "You want me to bring you whatever the mess has going?"

"That'd be great."

Dean looked at Anise. "You want to get some food, too?"

"No, thank you," she replied. "I am not hungry at this time and have work to do."

"Oh. Well, anything I can help you with?"

Anise looked at Dean like he was a dog who had suddenly started talking. "It is extremely unlikely. I will simply be transferring the data to my own computer and then returning to my base to commence study." She ducked her head, then Freya said, "It has been rewarding to work with you all, and we hope your companion recovers swiftly. Thank you for your assistance." With that, she turned and left.

"Burn," Sam said.

"Whatever," Dean replied grumpily. "Let's go get some grub."

They ate and afterward Sam headed up to the soft science floor. It was late enough in the afternoon on Earth that many people were already packing up for the day, but Nyan and the others still hanging around were all absolutely thrilled when Sam showed them the Furling data he'd brought home. They couldn't read it, of course, but that was entirely beside the point - it was the first large body of Furling-language text that anyone had ever found. It was the sort of thing that made people's careers, even by the standards of the Stargate program. The only downside was that Doctor Jackson was off-world searching for the Holy Grail at the moment and no one was quite willing to take a crack at even a preliminary analysis of the language, for fear that upon his return he would kill them, or worse look at them with sad puppy-dog , or possibly do both at once.

Sam took over for Lorne at around seven in the evening, so that he could get dinner with his botanist. Sam got started writing his mission report so that it would be ready in the morning. It was depressingly similar to the Flaming Ent Report. Stumbling around alien planet - check. Possibly valuable technology found - check. Encounter with evil aliens, leading to firefire and destruction of said technology - also check. He wondered if this sort of thing happened to other SG teams.

Neill woke not long after he arrived, blinking blearily at Sam and murmuring, "Daniel?"

"Um, no, Sam," he replied. He reached for the call button and pressed it.

"Sam's blonde," Neill said. He started to lift his head from the pillow, winced, and thought better of it. "Also, she's a she."

"You must be thinking of some other Sam."

Neill focused on him. "So I am. Sorry. I think I've got a concussion."

Doctor Lam appear and the door and walked over. "I see you're awake, Mr. Jackson. I should have known it was too much to ask that you not take after your namesakes."

"Sorry, doc, but you know me," Neill said, cracking a smile. He held still while she checked his vitals and shined a light in his eyes. "What's the prognosis?"

"We did a CAT scan when you were brought in and it didn't show any swelling or bleeding," she replied. "Still, you took pretty solid hit, so we'll be keeping you for observation. By the way, what's your name?"

"Neill Daniel Jackson."

Sam raised an eyebrow at that, wondering if his suspicions about Neill's parentage were correct.

"Age?"

"Fi- ah, trick question." Neill shook a finger at Lam. "Not nice, doc."

She smiled at him. "Just checking. Place of birth?"

"Was it Minnesota or Canada? I can never remember."

"Mother's maiden name?"

"Carter?" Neill gave Sam a shit-eating grin and a wink.

Lam crossed her arms. "Mr. Jackson, you do realize that giving false answers pretty much defeats the entire purpose of this, right?"

"Ah, but deliberately false answers tell you what you need to know, don't they?"

"Colonel Mitchell never gives me this much trouble," she said, for no reason Sam could determine.

"Mitchell is an over-grown boyscout who probably has some deep, dark secret. He can't possibly be as nice as he seems. I bet he has kinky threesomes after work or something." Neill frowned and squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm going to shut up now."

"That might be a good idea, Mr. Jackson," Lam said, fighting a smile. "If you feel any sudden headaches, pains, dizziness, hit the call button. I'm sure you know the drill."

"That I do, doc. Thanks."

Lam looked at Sam. "Is your shoulder giving you any trouble?"

"Nope," Sam said, holding his arm out and moving it around a bit.

"I thought that might be the case," she said, pursing her lips, "from the way you seem to have lost your sling."

"I didn't need it," he insisted. "Believe me, anesthetic and an x-ray is more than I've had the last couple times I had a dislocated shoulder."

"I'm sure that's the case," Lam said. "Luckily, now you've got doctors and nurses to sew your wounds up for you and tell you how to treat your body so that it will still work right when you're fifty. Not that anyone around ever listens. Just make sure you ice it before going to bed. I'm sure you are going home and to bed, of course, now that Mr. Jackson is awake. There's no need for you all to huddle around and clutter up the infirmary." She said it like it was routine and she didn't really expect anyone to listen to her, but none the less felt the need to at least try.

"I'll keep that all in mind, ma'am," Sam said.

"Of course you will," Lam said. She walked off with a sigh and a shake of her head.

Sam and Neill sat in silence for a minute. Just as Sam started to think Neill had drifted off into sleep again, he said, "That was fun, wasn't it?"

"The mission or talking with Doctor Lam?"

"The mission. I can't say it was quite how I was imagining meeting Ba'al. It was supposed to be more…."

"Heroic?" Sam suggested. "More vanquishing, less running away and getting zapped?"

"I was going to say bloody and satisfying, but yeah, that works too."

Sam nodded. After a moment's consideration, he said, "You know, I think I've figured you out."

Neill opened one eye and raised the accompanying eyebrow. "How's that?"

"You. Why you're here at the SGC. People our age aren't exactly the sort who usually get chosen for a top-secret program, smart or not. You don't even have a doctorate."

"Doctorates aren't the end-all and be-all of intelligence," Neill pointed out. "There's also plenty of marines and airmen who are in their twenties."

Sam shook his head. "The marines are different, they're in the military. We're civilians. Now, I'm here because some alien bastard screwed around with my brain. I figured there had to be something like that for you, too, and I think I've got it."

Neill grinned. "All right, what's your guess?"

"You're an alien refugee, like Nyan or Vala. You seem to know way too much about alien technology for there to be another explanation. At some point something happened and an SG team happened to pick you up - I'm guessing SG-1, given your name and how they act around you - and given what you just said, I'm going to go a step further and say that Ba'al has something to do with why you're here."

"Interesting theory," Neill said with a chuckle. "It's actually pretty close to someone else I know. You're not far off, either. SG-1 has something to do with it and I do have a reason to hate the snake. But alien? Nope, sorry."

"Damn," Sam said. He shook his head ruefully. "Want to give me a hint?"

"That wouldn't be any fun. Give it another shot."

"Hmm." Sam rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "Alien mind-transfer gone awry."

"Nope, but warmer."

"SG team member who had a tragic accident with a shrink ray."

"Wouldn't I be on my original team?"

"Not if it you got de-aged too much and you had to take some time to recover."

"True, very true. But also wrong."

"Robot duplicate?"

"Would I be sitting in this bed if I was a robot? Warmer, though."

"Some other kind of duplicate. A clone?"

"Got it." Neill lifted a hand to forestall the obvious next question. "And no, I won't say who. That's classified. In fact, I'm violating about a thousand rules just by telling you that much. Don't spread it around."

Sam whistled. "Wow. Cloned into an eighteen-year-old body. That's got to suck."

"Try sixteen-ish, and yeah, it sucked donkey balls for a while, but I made it work." Neill shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I am who I am. How about you tell me what I missed?"

"Okay. So, after Ba'al knocked your pansy ass out, Dean managed to stick a knife in him…."


	5. In Which There Are Angry Natives and Naked Aliens

Weeks later, at the end of another wonderfully successfully and thrilling mission, SG-22 ended up in the gate room soaking wet and covered with snow, facing SFs and a general who were all looking far too amused with themselves for Sam's taste.

"You're back early," General Landry said, not bothering to hide a smile. "Did the weathermen misread the MALP telemetry again?"

"Oh, no, sir, not at all," Lorne said. "It was bright and sunny, if a little chilly."

"No blizzard? No sleet?"

"No, sir, nothing of the sort."

"I see. Does that mean you just decided to play in the snow, or is there some other reason you're dripping everywhere?"

"Bears," Dean grunted.

"Polar bears," Sam said.

"Great, big, gigantic polar bears, with big, gnashing teeth and jaws," Neill added. He illustrated his point by putting his hands together, forming his fingers into teeth, and making biting motions.

Landry nodded. "In short, it wasn't winter, just an arctic wasteland."

"Pretty much, sir," Lorne replied.

"An arctic wasteland with bears," Neill clarified. "And with sub-zero temperatures and cold snow that are probably inducing frostbite in my extremities right at this moment, sir."

"Your point is taken, Mr. Jackson," Landry said. "Go get yourselves changed and looked over, we'll debrief later."

Suddenly having the rest of the day free was both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it meant he could get in some more time trying to translate the Furling data the team had brought back. On the other hand, it meant he could get in more time failing to translate the Furling data. If he was honest with himself, he knew that it was really a bit pointless for him to even keep trying. People far more qualified than him, Doctor Jackson included, hadn't had any success beyond matching a few words here and there. The problem was that they had one short piece of text that they knew the meaning off: the inscriptions at Heliopolis, which was translated using the Ancient and Asgard versions. They also had a few words from the Utopia gateway. Beyond that, there was nothing: no vocabulary, no syntax, no declensions or conjugations, nothing. Sam couldn't help but think that he should know what it all said, though.

"What I don't get," Sam said after metaphorically banging his head against the wall for a couple of hours, "is why I can't read this crap."

"Because it's an alien language?" Vala suggested from her perch on the next desk over. She was lying in wait for Doctor Jackson and had offered to 'help' Sam with his research. While admittedly she had considerable knowledge about the Goa'uld, actually getting any of it out of her was like pulling blood from a stone. A very flirtatious stone.

Sam rolled his eyes. "That's my point. I can read more alien languages than I can Earth ones. The damned snake stuck Goa'uld, Ancient, Asgard, and Nox in my head, so why not the one that's actually in his computers?"

"Maybe it was supposed to stay secret. If that's about his experiments, he might not have wanted his experiment-ees to know what he did." Vala shrugged. "Either that, or he just plain forgot. You can never be sure with Goa'uld what's a plot and what's incompetence."

Sam's shoulders slumped and he rubbed his forehead. "God, now there's a depressing though. Not only was I touched by an alien as a kid, but the alien may have failed to copy and paste correctly."

"That's aliens for you." Vala shook her head and grinned. "You'd be amazed at just how strange some of them are. There's this one group where people spend most of their time watching the most inane, mind-meltingly stupid audio-visual transmissions you can imagine. They have programs where total strangers are forced to live together in small houses or on deserted jungle islands, or where people voluntarily try to perform music and utterly humiliate themselves in front of hundreds of millions of people in the hopes of getting prizes."

Sam frowned. "Did you just describe reality TV?"

"Maybe?" Vala said, blinking innocently.

"You do remember that _you're_ the alien here, right?"

Vala shrugged. "Alien is a relative thing. I don't believe anyone else in this galaxy has come up with anything nearly so absurd as American Idol, let alone any of the Japanese game shows."

Suddenly, Lorne appeared at the door wearing fatigues and his tac vest. Sam considered taking immediate action and hiding under the table. It wasn't that he was pessimistic or anything, it was just that the last two times the major had appeared wanting anything other than someone to eat lunch with, Sam had gotten attacked by aliens. Unfortunately, Lorne saw him before Sam could do anything and waved him over.

"Drop whatever you're doing," Lorne said. "We're leaving on a mission ASAP." He didn't leave any time for debate but instead just turned around and strode down the corridor.

"What, another one? Is something wrong?" Sam asked after he caught up.

"I'll tell you in a minute."

When they reached the ready room, Neill and Dean were already there and gearing up. Sam started to get ready immediately while Lorne explained the situation to them. He looked more serious than Sam had ever seen him, without so much as a trace of his usual smile.

"SG-15 missed their check-in and aren't responding to radio calls," he said. "Now, chances are that this isn't anything to be worried about. General Landry is of the opinion that Bambus or Wallace fell into a hole and at worst they'll need a rope and a couple strong guys. It's the most likely scenario, but I figure its better safe than sorry so I volunteered us to go check it out."

"I hear that," Neill said. "What sort of mission were they on?"

"A botanical survey and trade mission. SG-13 made contact with the natives last week and brought back samples of some kind of interesting crop. The natives were apparently cautiously friendly, so 15 was sent in to follow up."

Neill snorted. "They always are, right up until they stick a knife in your gut."

"Exactly," Lorne said with a nod. "We'll be exercising all due caution. Pack some extra ammo and zats. C-4, too."

"You don't need to tell me twice," Dean quipped with a grin. Lorne just stared implacably at him until the smile slowly slid from Dean's face.

"Oooo-kay," Dean said quietly. "I wonder what crawled up his butt?"

"We've got a missing team," Neill pointed out. "I think he's allowed to be a bit worried."

"Maybe with another team, but the way I've heard, SG-15's a bunch of klutzes. One of them probably fell down a well or something."

Sam looked at him. "They say the same about us, you know."

"Yeah, but we've never been treed by a bunch of wolves."

"Maybe not as a team, but there was one time —"

"Shhh," Neill said suddenly. He tipped his to the door. Sam looked over his shoulder and saw Lorne and Colonel Mitchell standing there, heads bent close together and speaking quietly.

"There's no need to be concerned, sir," Lorne was saying. "It's probably nothing, and I've got plenty of experience bringing him home."

"I know, I know. I'm not worried at all," Mitchell said, contradicting the worry lining his face. "But just in case, be careful. Don't hesitate to call for backup if you need it. We'll be there and so will SG-2 and SG-3."

"One, Two, and Three, just for us? I feel special, sir."

"You are. Both of you." Mitchell glanced over at the rest of the team and lowered his voice, although not enough to keep Sam from being able to just barely hear him. "Just make sure you get him, okay? Don't let him try any of his stupid self-sacrificing shit."

Lorne bared his teeth in a dry, mirthless smile. "Sir, I'll see that he comes home even if I have to kill every person on that planet to do it. You have my word." Louder, he added, "If you guys are done eavesdropping and pussy-footing around, we've got badguys to kill."

"Hell, yeah," Dean said. He made a show of slapping a clip home into his M-16.

"Or maybe idiots to pull out of a hole. Let's get moving."

There was a road on the other side of the gate, which lead up into heavily wooded hills. The team didn't stay on it, though, instead following it from a few dozen yards to the east, where they could easily conceal themselves among the trees and brush. They saw no sign of anyone until they neared the valley that the town SG-15 had been visiting. They circled around at a safe distance until they found a ridge that gave them a good view of the town and the surrounding area. They laid down flat and started to scope it out with binoculars. It was a decent-sized place with a large number of medieval-style buildings arrayed below a fortified hold or castle on a hill. The first thing that caught Sam's eyes were groups of crimson-cloaked men moving about here and there in an arrogant, watchful way that marked them as cops to Sam's experienced eye, or at least something close enough to not matter.

"Well, crap," Lorne said. "Take a look at that big courtyard at the front of the castle."

"Oooh, boy," Neill said, whistling. "This is going to be one of those missions, isn't it?"

It took Sam a moment to find what they saw, but once he spotted it there wasn't any doubt what they were talking about. At the very center of the courtyard a group of men were piling wood around a large pole. It didn't take a lot of imagination to realize what they were planning to do.

"You have got to be kidding me,"Dean said. "What is this, Salem?"

"They didn't burn witches at Salem," Sam quietly pointed out.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"I think it's safe to say this is officially a rescue mission," Lorne said. "Unless anyone thinks this is just a coincidence? No? In that case, any ideas on how to get John of Arc and his team?"

"Assaulting the place is going to be difficult," Neill said. "Our best option might to get reinforcements, or better yet a ship."

"I don't know if we've got time. Our check-in's not for another hour and a half and we won't make it back to the gate much faster." Lorne shielded his eyes and looked up at the sun. "I don't think waiting for dark and using night-vision's an option, either. It can't be much past noon."

"You think they're going to kill them soon?" Sam asked.

Lorne nodded. "Sometime today, maybe tonight at the latest. Otherwise, why start piling up wood now? Worst case scenario is that they're waiting for a prior to show up and officiate. We can't take the chance they're going to wait in any case. I want to get our guys out of wherever it is they're being held now, before they're the center of attention."

"Then what we need is a distraction," Dean said. "We give them something else to worry about while we slip in and get them. Personally, I'm in favor of blowing shit up."

"Works for me," Neill said. "I've got a couple pounds of C-4 burning a hole in my pocket."

"The problem is that we have no idea where they are," Sam pointed out. "They could be in any of those buildings. Sure, the castle seems like the best bet, but where inside it? We can't just go bumbling around."

"We can use Dean's scanner to locate their transponders," Lorne said. "And… you see there to the east, at the base of that wall? That's some kind of sewer grate, I think. If we go in that way, we won't be noticed."

"Wait, transponders?" Dean asked.

Lorne raised an eyebrow. "Transponders. You know, the little subspace transmitters we all have in our arms? This is pretty much a prime example of why we have them."

"Transmitters in our arms?" Dean squawked. "Are you telling me I've been tagged like, like someone's poodle?"

Neill laughed. "Exactly like a poodle, yeah."

Dean scowled. "Well, no, like German Sheppard or something. But the point is — tagged?"

Sam looked at his brother in disbelief. "You did sign the waiver saying they could put one in us, you know. And I'm pretty sure the doctor mentioned it when we were getting all those vaccine shots. Oh, wait, that's right - you were too busy chatting up the nurse to pay attention."

"Screw you," Dean said grumpily.

Lorne sighed and lowered his head. "Gentlemen."

"Sorry," Sam said. "So what are we blowing up, then?"

Neill pointed toward the north-west side of the town, where there was a fairly large building next to a pond. "That thing over there looks like a good bet. I'm not sure what the hell it is, but I don't see anyone around it right now. We should be able to get to it if we're careful."

"Sounds good to me," Lorne said. "Let's hustle. Dean, check your scanner and see if the transponders are showing up."

"I still can't believe you guys tagged me," Dean grumbled as they got up and jogged off.

It took more than a half hour to get to the building, as they had to stay well clear of the town. When they arrived it turned out that the pond was more actually a mill-pond, and the building a genuine medieval grain mill, completely with spinning water wheel, gigantic turning gears, and grindstone. There wasn't anyone around, either because it was the wrong season for grinding stuff or, as the more cynical part of Sam's mind suggested, because the miller was off to watch a nice burning.

"This will do great," Neill said as he looked around the inside of the mill. "If this goes up, they're definitely going to be interested. We could put some C-4 on the dam and spillway and let the pond free for some extra fun and panic."

"If there's any grain upstairs, that could work in our favor," Lorne added. "I hear silos sometimes go up like fuel-air explosives if the dust gets stirred up. The same might be true here."

"Uh, guys," Sam said, standing guard at the window while they started to pull out bricks of C-4. "Are we sure we want to do this?"

"Yep," Neill said with a big grin. "It'll be fun."

"I'm just saying, the people around here might depend on it for making flour or whatever. Plus, if they do store anything here, we could be condemning hundreds, maybe thousands of people to go hungry. If winter's near we could be talking about mass starvation."

The smile slipped from Neill's face. "Okay, that could be a problem."

"But not ours," Lorne said as he fixed C-4 to the wall where the waterwheel's shaft came through. He didn't look concerned at all. "This is our best bet to insure we can extract our guys and get out safely. I'm sure there's other mills and food stores around here. If not, it's unfortunate, but them's the breaks."

"I'm just saying, we're supposed to be the good guys," Sam tried. "You know, we go around killing evil things, helping people. Not burning down their livelihoods."

"It's not like we haven't before," Dean said. "Usually by accident, sure, but it still happens."

Calmly, Lorne said, "I agree with you, Sam. The thing is, the instant they decided to burn our guys at the stake, the gloves came off. We do whatever we have to in order to bring them home. If that means burning down a mill, that's what we'll do. If it means burning down the entire town, we'll do it. I'm all for avoiding collateral damage, and if it looks like we can get away without detonating the explosive then we will, but at the moment I'm not going to take chances by being unprepared."

"But -" Sam stopped himself and shook his head. The problem was that Lorne had a point, even if Sam didn't like it. He couldn't even say he wouldn't do the same if it was Dean who was being held prisoner. He just wasn't sure how little Lorne seemed to care about what the fallout would be for people who weren't involved with the situation at all.

It only a took Lorne and Neill a few minutes to get their C-4 set up for maximum destructive potential, saving just a little in case they needed some later. Then it was off through the woods again and sneaking through a dry culvert up to the grate they had spotted earlier. For a moment it looked like they might have to blast a hole to get inside, but a half-dozen shots with a zat to the right places resulted in the grate falling down to the ground with a muffled thud. When they climbed into the now-open tunnel, Sam had to fight to keep his lunch down. The smell was absolutely vile, bad even compared to other sewers he had slogged through on occasion; the only redeeming feature was that there was only a thin rivulet of sewage at the moment.

They eventually emerged into a damp chamber somewhere deep in the bowels of the castle. Dean's scanner whirred and beeped a few times and he pointed them down a hall. The entire place looked and felt like a dungeon straight out of a TV show or movie, right down to the flickering torches on the wall. There were a few close calls but they managed to sneak past the few guards moving through the corridors, thanks to the fact that their heavy mail made them about as stealthy as Jaffa. In the end, though, they were confronted with a pair of guards standing before a heavy wooden door that they had to get passed. The poor guys didn't even know what hit them before they went down from a pair of quick zat blasts. Dean opened the door and Sam and Lorne dragged their bodies inside. Voices could be heard coming from a cell just down the hall.

"— and I appreciate that," Sheppard was saying. "But you know, you trying to plead our case doesn't seem to be doing much good, so maybe you should remind the king that the people back home are going to be missing us, and they've got a lot of big weapons. Really, really big ones."

"Look, threats aren't going to sway him," someone else said. "But I'm sure I can convince him to let you and your men go unharmed once he's calmed down a little."

"Would that be before or after he has Doctor Bambus burnt at the stake for witchcraft?"

"He has a point, you know," a third man said. "Your father's got that look in eye that he gets when he's got completely nutters."

"I — you — would it be too much to ask that you not insult him right in front of me?"

At that point, Sam and Lorne stepped around a corner with their zats raised. Sheppard and his three teammates were inside a cell. Just outside it were two young men, one blond and wearing armor and a crimson cloak like the guard, the other dark-haired and in generic brown medieval garb. They had just long enough to look surprised before being stunned.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Lorne said, zatting the lock. "My name's Evan Lorne, and I'm here to rescue you."

Sheppard crossed his arms. "Aren't you a little short to be a stormtrooper?"

"Sir, most people thank their rescuers, not make fun of their stature."

"Thank you," Sheppard said. "What the hell took you so long?"

Lorne's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I could just leave you here."

"Uh huh, sure you could."

"Are we going to stand around chatting all day, or are we getting out of here?" Neill called from the door.

Sheppard peered past Lorne and Sam. "Is that the, you know? Him?"

"The 'you know, him,' has ears," Neill replied.

Lorne sighed. "Do you have any idea where your gear is?"

"Not a clue," Sheppard told him.

"Wonderful. Guys, hand over your zats. No, sir, you can't have a rifle, they're the ones with all the ammo. Seriously, sir, puppy-dog eyes are unbecoming a colonel."

Sam handed his zat over to Sheppard, who eyed it skeptically and said, "I'm going to remember this when your next performance review comes up."

"You're not my CO anymore, sir." Lorne pulled out the detonator for the C-4 and flipped off the safety cover.

"Are you positive we need to do that?" Sam asked before he could hit the switch. "I mean, we got in easily enough, we could get out."

"Do what?" Sheppard asked.

"Nothing," Lorne said.

"Blow up their grain mill," Sam corrected.

"Almost nothing," Lorne repeated. "It's a distraction, so that we can get out of here safely."

Sheppard ran a hand through his hair. "Lorne, why do you think everything can be solved with C-4?"

"Because it can, in my experience."

"We're not blowing anything up," Sheppard said, snatching the detonator away. "Maybe some other team can still salvage this situation, but I doubt that'll happen if everyone starves because of us. Come on, let's get out of here."

"Two months ago you would have let me," Lorne grumbled. "You've been spending too much time with Mitchell. He's rubbing off on you."

"Every night," Sheppard said, "or as close as we can manage. It's great."

Sam didn't even want to try to decipher that statement. He wouldn't have had time, at any rate; they rounded a corner to find themselves facing a squad of guards. It was no contest — electro-zap guns and automatic weapons against guys with swords — but it made a hell of a racket and shouts of alarm could be heard from elsewhere in the castle.

"Okay, maybe I was wrong," Sam said. "A distraction would have been nice."

"No shit, Sherlock," Dean snapped.

They ran back toward the sewer and down the tunnel, with the sounds of pursuit close behind. As soon as they exited there were more shouts from the castle wall above them and some asshole even shot an arrow down at them. It missed Sam by inches and he instinctively turned and fired a burst off, scoring a solid hit on one of the men. He didn't even feel guilty about it — he was pretty sure getting shot cleared up any lingering ethical questions.

"So," Sheppard shouted as they ran, "anyone have a plan for getting out of here?"

"We run like hell!" Neill shouted back.

"It's two miles to the gate," Sheppard yelled. "Did anyone tell you that they have horses?"

"We run like hell and shoot anyone who follows us!"

With a flash the world dissolved around them. A moment later they were stumbling and falling into a tangled pile on a cold, hard metal floor.

"Or that works too," Neill muttered from under Sam.

"Greetings," an odd, inhuman voice said. Sam looked up to see an honest-to-God grey alien sitting on an elaborate glowing chair a few feet away from them. An honest-to-God _naked_ grey alien.

"Dude, where's your pants?" Dean said. He grunted when Lorne planted an elbow in his side.

Neill got out from under Sam and sat up. "Howdy, Thor."

"O'Neill. It is pleasant to see you again."

"You too, buddy. Name's actually Neill Jackson, though."

"I see."

Sheppard managed to extract himself from his team. Somehow, his hair looked even more absurd than it had moments before. "Hi there. I'm Colonel John Sheppard, and I guess I'm in charge."

Thor blinked. "I am aware of who you are, Sheppard of Atlantis. I have heard much about you."

"Oh. All of it good, I hope."

"No."

Sheppard grimaced. "You really can't believe anything Hermiod tells you. I don't think he likes me. I don't know why."

"While he has spoken of you, he is not my only source of information. He is more negative than most, however."

"Okay?" Sheppard frowned. "That's… reassuring. Also a bit creepy."

Deciding that it would probably be best for everyone if Sheppard didn't keep talking, Sam decided to step in. "Hi. I'm Sam Winchester, and it's an honor to meet you. This is my brother Dean, Major Evan Lorne, and…" He trailed off and looked at Sheppard's teammates. "And I have no idea who these guys are."

"I am aware of you and your brother as well, Samuel Winchester," Thor said, inclining his head slightly. "I am Thor, Supreme Commander of the Asgard fleet."

"Hi," Dean said, his expression and the way he resolutely looked away from Thor making it clear he was making considerable effort not to repeat his earlier statement.

"Thanks for the rescue, by the way," Neill said. "Were you just passing through, or did you need something?"

"As a matter of fact, I did seek you out deliberately," Thor said.

"Imagine that," Neill said, completely unsurprised. "Do I want to know how you found us?"

"I could tell you," Thor said, blinking yet again while his tiny mouth turned upwards in something almost like a smile, "but I suspect the answer would elicit a displeased reaction."

Under his breath, Dean said, "Wow, if that's not code for probing, I don't know what is."

"It is not," Thor said, demonstrating surprisingly good hearing for someone with no ears. "If you will wait a moment, I will convey us to our destination so that we might discuss things in greater detail with all involved parties."

Thor manipulated a smooth stone-like object on his chair. A slight shiver ran through the deck, quickly followed by another. The transporter flashed once more, this time depositing them in the SGC briefing room. It placed Lorne, Dean, Sam, and Neill in chairs down one side of the table. Thor appeared in his control chair across from Neill.

The chair next to Thor was occupied by a young, pale-skinned woman. She wore an odd, almost plant-like garment colored with shades of red and green. Woven into her red-streaked hair were leaves and flowers. She exuded an aura of incredible calm and gentleness that put Sam at ease almost instantly, although that nearly made him paranoid that she might be putting a mind-whammy on him.

In the next seat was a man with startlingly blue eyes and slightly disheveled hair. He wore an unbuttoned tan trench coat with a light blue shirt and a loosened tie underneath, giving a general impression that he had heard this was the sort of thing people wore in formal settings but hadn't quite gotten it right.

Last on that side was Colonel Sheppard, who looked even more confused than he had a moment earlier. Finally, at the end of the table sat General Landry, who was already speaking.

"It's nice to hear a normal report for — what the hell?" Landry's eyes bugged out. "What's going on here? Where's SG-3?"

"Greetings, General Landry," Thor said. "I apologize for interrupting. Our business here is urgent. SG-3 and the rest of SG-15 have been relocated to your commissary facility."

"Business? Urgent?" Landry scanned the table and ended up aiming a withering glare at Sheppard. "Colonel Sheppard, Major Lorne, I hope there's a good explanation for this."

Thor ignored him and said, "As all four races are now represented and Tau'ri observers are present, I hereby call this emergency meeting of the Alliance Security Council into session. The subject at hand is the possible discovery an active equivalent-tech autonomous military unit, of a type proscribed under the Third Benthic Accords."

"Okay, how about you hold on for a second?" Neill said, holding up his hands. He pointed at Thor, the woman, and then the man. "I know Thor and I know Lya, but you I've never seen before."

"I am Castiel," the man said in a low, gravelly voice.

"He represents the Furlings in this matter," Thor added.

"What, really?" Neill looked at Castiel skeptically. "Funny, I always thought you'd guys would be more…."

"Furry?" Sheppard suggested.

"Yeah. The plain human look's a bit disappointing."

"This body is just a construct," Castiel said, "a vessel to house my consciousness in order to facilitate interaction with lesser species."

"Oh, here we go." Neill rolled his eyes. "I bet your 'higher species' wants us 'lesser beings' to do something that you can't, probably because you've got your heads too far up your asses."

Sam elbowed him and hissed, "Dude, don't antagonize the godlike aliens."

Lorne smiled broadly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Castiel, no matter what impression you might get from Mr. Jackson."

Castiel nodded slowly. "It is a pleasure to meet you as well. I think."

"Hold up a second," Sheppard said. He looked down his side of the table and narrowed his eyes. "If this is the alliance of the four great races, shouldn't there be an Ancient here?"

"Commander Helia did not respond to our message," Thor explained. "A more suitable representative was available locally in any case."

"Could someone _please_ answer my question and tell me what's going on?" Landry said. Sam winced; between his tone and the way his eyebrows were starting to crawl up his forehead, it was obvious that Landry was not happy with being ignored. Most generals didn't like that sort of thing, Sam imagined.

Thor tipped his head slightly to Landry. "Lya, if you would explain?"

"Of course," Lya said softly. "Twelve hours ago, a Nox disarmament monitoring station near Vetranos Elbarush detected a locator beacon from what we believe to be a Seraph-class strategic attack unit. Unfortunately, the signal was too weak and brief to triangulate its position precisely."

"Obviously, if such a device has reactivated itself, steps have to be taken to recover or otherwise neutralize it," Castiel said. "It must not be allowed to fall into the hands of the Ori or any other… less developed race in this galaxy. Beyond that, if it attempts to carry out its mission, the collateral damage could be considerable."

"What are we talking about?" Landry asked. "Some sort of weapon?"

"It is an autonomous weapons deployment craft that was part of the Furling strategic deterrent force just over forty thousand years ago," Castiel responded. "It likely still carries weapons capable of destroying planetary targets."

"So basically a nuclear missile sub?" Lorne said.

"Closer to a bomber, but comparison is somewhat apt," Thor said. "However, it is unmanned and likely in offensive mode. Attempts to recall it remotely have been unsuccessful."

"We had thought all such weapons had been accounted for," Lya said with a sad frown. "It appears we were incorrect."

"I'd ask what it has to do with us," Sheppard said, "but I get the feeling I don't want to know."

"We require your assistance locating the ship," Thor said. "Under normal circumstances we would ask for SG-1's help, but we feel the search for the Sangrael is of higher priority. Until it is recovered, Major Lorne's team is our second choice."

"And you need us… why?" Neill asked.

"The Nox are not capable of taking all the steps that might be necessary to secure the ship's return," Lya said. "You are aware of our cultural restrictions regarding the use of violence."

Castiel looked down at the table. "We, on the other hand, are constrained by treaty limitations against projecting military force in this galaxy. Doing so could potentially spark an incident."

"With who?" Landry asked. "I doubt the Ori could get more angry than they already are."

"That's none of your concern," Castiel replied patiently, like a parent to a child.

"The Asgard fleet is unavailable," Thor continued. "All of our ships are currently tied down in positions where they can intercept any Ori attacks against our homeworld or the protected planets."

Neill raised a finger. "Ah, do you mean _all_ the protected planets?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Neill looked surprised by the answer. "In that case, we'd love to help."

Landry coughed. "Excuse me?"

"Assuming the general agrees," Neill hastily added.

"Obviously I'm more than willing to assist our allies in any way we can," Landry said. He didn't look thrilled at the idea, but his briefing room had just been invaded by aliens, so that was fairly understandable. "I'll assign SG-3 and whatever other teams we can spare. Are you sure you don't want SG-1 involved?"

"SG-1 _must_ continue to search for the sangrael," Thor insisted. "Further, we require that only Major Lorne's team be involved with this mission. Only they have our full confidence."

"Now wait just a minute," Landry said. "It's one thing to come here and ask for help, and another entirely to make demands about who I assign to conduct operations."

"The alternative is for the Asgard to reassign warships currently tasked with protecting Earth to conduct the search," Thor said flatly. "This would take some time, as an approach from orbit may result in the attack craft using its stealth systems to avoid detection and much greater effort would be needed to do a complete sweep of the target planets. Should the Ori attack, you would be forced to rely only on your own defenses until more distant warships could arrive."

"Why us?" Dean asked. "I mean, we don't exactly have the best track record."

"Neill Jackson is trusted by the Asgard and Nox. Major Lorne is known to the Alterrans. Samuel Winchester may also be useful." Thor inclined his head and blinked. "You have no particular purpose beyond providing ancillary support."

Lorne looked to Landry before telling Thor, "Look, more teams would mean covering more ground. I bet Neill would vouch for SG-2 and SG-3, at the very least, and I'd trust Colonel Sheppard with anything."

"Give the word and my team's there," Sheppard said.

"No," Castiel said sharply. "Your involvement could destabilize the situation should other treaty signatories become aware of the situation. Given current Lantean military weakness, that could prove disastrous."

Sheppard blinked and frowned. "Huh?"

"I disagree with that assessment," Lya said. "However, due to other concerns John Sheppard must continue on his current path."

"The Asgard agree with the Nox on that matter," Thor said. "General Landry, no slight is intended to you or your people. However, this is situation is exceedingly delicate. Should this technology fall into the hands of the Ori or some other adversary, the results would be catastrophic. Regrettably, your own people have had security breaches in the recent past, including Goa'uld infiltration. Under the circumstances, only the most trusted can be involved."

Landry sighed and rubbed his temple. "I guess I have no choice, then. All right, tell us what you need Lorne and his men to do."

"There are roughly a dozen possible planets that must be searched," Castiel said. "Fortunately, the bomber should be near the stargate, as it uses them to quickly travel across long distances before employing its own hyperdrive to reach a target system. We will provide a means to scan for signs that would indicate its presence. The team will also be given command codes to place it into safe mode. Once that is done, it will be a simple matter of signaling the Asgard to come and pick it up for disposal."

"If it's near the gate," Sam said, "shouldn't it be easy for you guys to search for it?"

"Again, if signs of advanced technology are sensed by the craft, it will take measures to avoid detection or capture, possibly including use of its strategic weaponry," Thor said. "Tau'ri technology is not advanced enough to be noticed, and the sensor we will provide is extremely simple and designed specifically to allow a safe approach."

Sam nodded. "Makes sense, I suppose."

"We expect this search to take a few days, at most. Should it take longer, we will reconsider our options at that time. Preliminary instructions have been transferred to your base computer. I suggest you begin whatever preparations you require. We will contact you again shortly."

Thor moved a crystal on his throne and all of the aliens disappeared in flashes of light.

"Does anyone know what I did to annoy that Castiel guy?" Sheppard asked. "Or why I was here at all when they don't want me to help?"

Landry leaned forward and glowered at Neill. "A better question is why the Asgard have such a keen interest in you, Mr. Jackson. Would you like to share?"

"No, sir," Neill said. "That's classified."

"I have the highest security clearance known to man," Landry pointed out.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to talk to the old man when he gets back from Atlantis, not me. I'm just following instructions."

Lorne scoffed at that. "Really. You're not doing a very good job."

"No, he's not," Landry grumbled. "Is it too much to ask that people not treat me like I'm as intelligent as a five-year-old and just tell me the truth? Don't answer that, Mr. _Jack_-son." He sighed and shook his head. "Since our allies have so magnanimously given us some time to prepare, perhaps you'd like to explain what happened with your missions?"

"Running, shooting, and screaming, sir," Sheppard said. "Not all in that order. Honestly, all the interesting parts happened before they showed up. You may as well let them go and get ready for whatever the Pantless One wants them to do."

Lorne said, "Sir, can I just say that if you stopped calling Hermiod that, he'd like you a lot more?"

"You can say it," Sheppard replied with a shrug. "That won't make me stop thinking it's weird."

"It is weird," Dean said. "They've got giant space battleships and transporters, but not clothing? That's just wrong."

There was a volcano-like rumble from the end of the table. "I do not care about anyone's views on Asgard customs," Landry said. "Keep them to yourselves, especially around the allies who, I remind you, are the ones providing the advanced technology that is all that stands between us and being conquered by the Ori."

"Yes, sir," Sheppard said. "I'm sorry, sir." He didn't sound sorry. In fact, he sounded exactly like Dean did when he was just trying to get someone to shut up.

Landry didn't seem to buy it either. "I'm sure you are, Colonel. Go find your team and get your medical checks. I don't doubt that you have a fascinating story to tell me. And send SG-3 back here so I can finish my meeting. Major, go find out what the Asgard put in the computer and follow their instructions. Try not to blow anything important up this time."

Sheppard chuckled as they filed out. "You heard the man, Major. No blowing anything up."

"Sir, if you say what I think you're going to say, I'll have to hit you."

"I'm just saying, if you happen to find any Ancient warships," Sheppard started, cutting off suddenly when Lorne sucker punched him.

"Whoops," Lorne said. "You should watch where you're going, sir."

"You hit me," Sheppard gasped. "Since when do you hit me?"

"You're not my CO anymore, sir."

"I still outrank you."

"I had special permission. Now go make sure your team hasn't accidentally set fire to the kitchen or tripped down an elevator shaft." Lorne turned to look at his team, who were looking at him with expressions of shock and amazement. "I believe we have a computer to consult."

"Wow," Neill said, watching over his shoulder as Sheppard skulked off. "I don't think even I ever struck a superior officer like that."

"Bite me," Lorne said. "He's had it coming for about ten years."

"When would you have ever had a superior officer?" Dean asked.

Neill rolled his eyes. "Classified, my friend."

"Fine, keep secrets from your teammates," Dean grumbled. "We're supposed to be buddies, you know. As close as brothers. Brothers don't keep things from each other."

"Uh, excuse me?" Sam said as they piled into an elevator and headed down to drop off their weapons. "I'm pretty sure there's been some secret-keeping on your part lately. Something about Dad telling you that I might go darkside and you should shoot me if I do?"

"That's different," Dean said. "You're my little brother. Big brothers can't tell their little brothers everything."

"Little brothers are entitled to some privacy, too," Neill said.

Sam snorted. "Try telling him that."

Dean shook his head. "Okay, be that way. It hurts that you don't trust me, but I'll live somehow. Just let me know if you ever feel like sharing, Colonel."

Neill eyed Dean for a long moment, then asked Sam, "I thought he was supposed to be the stupid one?"

"Only when he wants to be. Usually he's as thick as a brick," Sam muttered. He wasn't even going to start on how irksome it was that his brother was probably _almost_ as smart as Sam and just couldn't be bothered to apply it to anything that wasn't cars, hunting, getting laid, or annoying Sam.

"You're just annoyed that I figured it out first," Dean said.

"You did not," Sam answered. He had more or less gotten it puzzled out well before then, even if it had taken Thor's greeting to point out the blatantly obvious.

"I've known who he is for weeks."

"Bullshit."

"God, it has been way too long of a day to listen to this shit," Lorne muttered. "Knock it off."

"Someone's grumpy," Dean said with a big grin. "Hey, look. He's got a bitchface just like yours, Sam."

They retreated to Lorne's office to search the computer. It was remarkably easy: as soon as Lorne took his laptop out of sleep mode there was a new mail notification. Two clicks later they were looking at an email labeled "MISSION INSTRUCTIONS" from hermiod@daedalus.hws.mil. The instructions were straightforward: go to this gate address, search a given area in a grid pattern, repeat as necessary until the bomber was found. There were, however, a few minor oversights.

"This," Lorne said, "is not going to work at all."

"Why not?" Castiel asked behind them. He promptly found himself looking down the barrels of four pistols. His only reaction was a blink and a small, puzzled frown.

"Greetings once again," Thor said. He was standing safely off to one side, almost as if he had expected their appearance to elicit such a response.

Lorne slowly lowered and holstered his sidearm and the rest of them followed suit. "Haven't you people heard of knocking?"

"No," Thor said, completely deadpan. Then again, maybe he wasn't deadpan; Sam had little idea what a happy, angry, or sad Asgard would sound like.

"Doorbells?"

"No."

"Even the Ancients have doorbells, and they're idiots. Unless you don't have doors at all?"

"We do not."

Lorne scoffed. "Oh, now you're just lying."

"Asgard do not lie," Thor said, blinking.

"I thought that was Vulcans," Neill said.

Sam shook his head. "No, Vulcans lie all the time."

"God, I'm surrounded by nerds," Dean said.

Castiel's frown was slowly deepening as they talked, until he finally said, "This discussion seems to have gotten entirely off-track."

"Welcome to my life," Lorne told him. "Your plan sucks, by the way."

"How so?"

"The timeline you've made is absurd. You want us to cover hundreds of square miles in a couple of days. I don't know about you people, but I do need to occasionally eat and sleep. We've already been off-world twice today, going out immediately would just be asking for trouble."

"As I suggested earlier," Thor said to Castiel.

"They're in their physical prime," Castiel replied. "Alterrans should easily be able to sustain a high level of activity for the time required, as should the hybrid."

"They do not have the same mental capabilities as their predecessors, and thus they cannot use them to keep their bodies at a sufficient level of functionality."

Castiel raises his eyebrows. "Even the Lantean? I was under the impression the city —"

"Your impressions are incorrect. He does not have access to enhanced abilities at this time." Thor's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps if your people would maintain more contact than an occasional message every few thousand years, you would be more aware of current events."

"We have been doing our best to monitor the situation, especially since the recovery of Atlantis and contact with the Ori. It simply appears that we overestimated the rate of the alterations that were being made to the exiles upon their return to —"

Thor once more cut Castiel off with a small harrumph and a pointed look at the four humans. Neill waved at him.

"Please, continue," he said. "Don't mind us at all."

"Yeah, this is all fascinating," Lorne added. "It sounds like you have a lot that you could share with us. It's not insulting to be talked about like we weren't standing three feet away."

Sam nodded. "Hell, it brings back all sorts of childhood memories."

"Perhaps there will be time at some later date to clarify matters," Thor said, which was such obvious diplomatic double-talk for 'never going to happen' that he did even bother trying to sound sincere. "Castiel, please give them the detection device."

Castiel withdrew an object from a pocket inside his coat and handed it to Lorne, who took a moment to look it over and handed it in turn to Dean. It was a rectangular device with rounded corners, roughly the size of a hardback book. Most of it was matte gunmetal gray except for a few rounded crystalline protrusions at the top and a black screen that lit up when Dean gave it an experimental tap.

"How's this work?" Dean asked after a minute.

"The controls are quite simple," Castiel said. "In the lower left are pan and zoom control. Above that are controls for stopping and starting the scans."

"Yeah, yeah, just let me poke at it and I'll figure part that out," Dean said, waving his hand in a circle. "I meant what's it scanning for? Subspace transmissions? A hyperdrive signature? Electromagnetic fields? Some kind of funky radiation? Give me a clue here."

"I don't see why that's necessary. As long as the device is properly operated, it will do everything that —"

Dean laughed. "Sure it will. Then when the thing throws up wacky readings or blue screens on us, I'll be the one these guys want to fix it. Just tell me."

Castiel let out an exasperated sigh at being interrupted yet again. "The device is foolproof. Even an ape could use it."

"Mmm-hmm, that's what they always say."

"Fine. If the bomber's reactor is active, it will be emitting a distinct neutrino signature that will not be fully masked by the stealth systems. Once that is detected, trace radiation from the engines may allow it to be further pinpointed. There are over a dozen other tell-tales programmed into the scanner in case neither the reactor nor engines are online. It uses purely passive detection methods in order to evade notice itself. I could explain further, but it would take several hours and require a high degree of understanding of quantum physics and subspace dynamics on your part."

"Too hard to understand for an ape?" Dean asked.

"No, but I doubt more than a few people on this planet have the knowledge, and certainly no one outside your stargate program." Grudgingly, Castiel added, "I can perhaps come up with some simplified explanations in case there is an anomalous situation."

"Cool." Dean smiled. "Every little bit could help."

"Major Lorne," Thor said, "how long do you expect a full search to take?"

Lorne's brows scrunched as he thought about it. "To cover this much territory? Call it a week and a half at least, and that's pulling thirteen, fourteen hour days. I'll need information on the day-night cycle of each of these planets so we can try to synch that up as much as we can. I'm not making any promises, though. If the terrain's rough or the weather doesn't cooperate, it could take longer. We definitely won't be leaving earlier than tomorrow morning. We'll need time to send a MALP through and get some shut-eye."

"That is acceptable." Thor raised his hand, revealing a round stone stuck to his palm. "If you will hold still, command codes will now be given to you."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Neill shouted, waving his hands frantically. "Is that thing going to screw with my brain _again_?"

"Not… directly, no," Thor said. "A small chip will be placed just inside your skull, containing the codes. Each of you will be given a different one, and the bomber will require two to be accessed. In the event you are captured, the chip will prevent the codes from being extracted by any known form of memory-extraction technique, including physical torture. They should be undetectable, but they will be located in an area that will allow safe remove without damage to your brains."

"Oh, that's comforting," Lorne muttered. "Go ahead and do it."

"Uh… do we have to?" Sam asked. "I'm not exactly thrilled with the idea of another alien poking my brain either."

"This is purely a superficial, non-invasive implant," Castiel said. "It is not comparable at all to the alterations Azazel made to your physiology."

"Who?"

"My apologies. I meant the," Castiel paused to choose his words carefully, "creature you know as Pazuzu. It went by several names."

"You know what he did?" Sam looked at Dean, then back at Castiel. "I mean, do you really know what he did? We think we've figured most of it out, but if there's anything you could share, anything at all, it would be a big help."

For the first time since he had arrived, Castiel looked uncomfortable. He couldn't quite meet Sam's eyes as he explained, "We are aware of the general events, yes, but unfortunately we know little beyond what you do. We've made sure there's no hidden sleeper personalities or any similar threats, but there's been no time for a more thorough investigation. We certainly have no idea why he did what he did."

"Okay, but maybe after all this is over we can compare notes or something?" Sam asked. "Please?"

"It may be possible," Castiel said after a moment. "I'll have to consult my superiors."

"Thanks," Sam said. "Seriously. Uh, Thor, if you want to go ahead, I'm ready."

"Very well." Thor raised his hand again and pointed it at each of them in turn. The stone glowed briefly, but that was all it did. Sam didn't even feel anything when Thor did it to him. He also didn't seem to remember any codes that he hadn't already.

"Are you sure that worked?" Dean asked. "I don't feel any different."

"Yeah, definitely no codes here," Neill agreed.

"You will know them when the time comes," Thor said. "Do you have further questions?"

"I don't think so, no," Lorne said, looking around at the rest of the team for confirmation. "Is there some way we can contact you?"

"Stargate Command's subspace transmitter will suffice," Thor said.

Castiel added, "The information regarding the scanner will be sent shortly. Good luck." The aliens beamed out, leaving the team alone.

After a moment, Lorne clapped his hands. "Okay, here's what we'll do. Neill, Dean, you two look over the scanner and whatever other technical data they send us. Sam, you and I are going to review the gate addresses, make a schedule, and get requests for MALPs and gear put in. We'll meet again in about two hours over dinner. After, I suggest you all head home and catch some sleep. I don't think we'll be getting much this week."

Lorne had no idea how right he was.

There were ten planets to survey on Thor's main list. There were an additional fifteen 'less likely but possible' planets if none of those worked out. In order to properly survey a planet, they would have to walk a grid pattern that, try as Lorne and Sam might, couldn't be much shorter than thirty-five or so miles. At about three miles an hour, that would take just under twelve hours to cover. That was the optimistic estimate, though - three miles an hour was the average speed for flat land without any serious encumbrances, whereas there was no guarantee the ground would be flat and they would be carrying packs. Add in additional distance to avoid obstacles and time for breaks, and they'd be looking at easily spending fourteen or more hours off-world. That almost certainly meant doing some of the walk wearing night-vision gear, which in turn meant they'd have to walk even slower.

Each trip would be exhausting, to say the least, but even bunking in the SGC's guest quarters didn't mean getting a full night's sleep. As they were traveling to other planets there was a time difference. No matter how they tried to space trips out, there were going to have some almost back to back. Sam was painfully reminded of finals week at Stanford, only this would involve more sore muscles, more mosquito bites, and no doubt infinitely more bitching.

The first planet was a temperate forest, of course. It was actually pretty pleasant there, with as close to perfect hiking weather as you could ask for. They wandered to and fro, up and down a few small ravines and across a couple of small streams. They had lunch on top of a rock outcropping with a great view, and it was the middle of summer so they managed to make it back to the gate just as the sun dropped under the horizon. It was a long day, but you could almost pretend it was a vacation spent hiking in a national park.

Things went downhill from there.

Planet three was in the middle of monsoon season and they came home soaked to the bone. Four was a desert; they had to go in the middle of the night in order to keep from baking to death. Five was a swamp, complete with snakes and, as they discovered upon returning, leeches. Six had a large lake right next to the gate, which meant they had to go back to the SGC and retrieve an inflatable boat to putter around in. It was fun until they hit a rock that turned out to be a giant turtle. A very annoyed giant turtle, in fact.

By the time they made it to planet number seven where the gate was in a savannah-like area, they were operating on an average of four hours of sleep a day. Everyone had long since moved past the cranky stage into what could best be described as zombieism; if anything they were rather less animated than any sort of living dead that Sam had ever encountered. They trudged along, switching positions and handing the scanner off to each other at regular intervals. Conversation had devolved into grunts and four-syllable sentences. Even the distant herd of elephants they spotted at one point didn't draw more than a 'cool' from any of them.

"Position marker two-one by six-three," Dean said in a flat, dreary monotone. "All indicators are red. Proceed one hundred meters to the north to marker…" He drifted off and stopped walking, causing Sam to nearly run into him. It took a moment for Lorne and Neill to realize they weren't following. Dean tapped the scanner a couple times and said, "Huh. That's different."

"What's different?" Lorne asked.

"There's a faint trace of… denatured neutronic fuel particles? Whatever the hell those are."

"Why can't things ever emit normal particles?" Neill asked. "Like beta or alpha particles. Or maybe particles of elements that are on the normal part of the periodic table instead of all this super-dense island of stability crap."

"Which way?" Lorne asked.

Dean slowly turned in a circle until he was facing roughly north-east. "That way, I think."

Sam shielded his eyes and looked in that direction. There was a high ridge line in the way that had chunk bitten out of it right where Dean was pointing. It was worn by time but Sam could imagine something clipping the top at some point.

"If the bomber swung around this way after coming out of the gate," he said, waving south to where it was, "maybe it was flying too low and fast and hit that ridge. That might be why it didn't do… whatever it was supposed to do, and why it hasn't responded to the recall from the Asgard."

"That sounds like as good a guess as any," Lorne said. "Let's go take a look."

They hiked up the ridge and paused there to take a good look around from the higher vantage point, slumping down into prone positions and pulling out their binoculars. It was quickly apparent that Sam had been right. It wasn't easy to see because the tree cover was thicker on that side of the ridge, but there was a weathered trough-like depression that started a short distance away and ran for about a mile. At the very end was a wide clearing and a shallow pit with a black, bullet-like shape resting inside. It was hard to tell from a distance, but it looked like it might be able to just barely fit through a stargate.

"That's weird," Lorne said after a moment. "I wouldn't expect it to be exposed like that."

"It could be the result of erosion," Sam said. "Either that, or changes in the landscape lifted it back up. I've heard of that happening with boulders in fields."

Lorne shook his head. "No, it's way too even for that. Not only is the ship itself completely cleared, but the sides of the hole around it are pretty clean. I'm not an expert, but I've been around enough excavations and mines to recognize an artificial pit when I see one."

"You know, I think you're right," Neill said. "Look at the grass all around it. It's been trampled."

"So someone's digging it out, then," Dean said.

"Or it's digging itself out," Sam suggested. "It turned on for some reason. Maybe it's got robots or something in case it needs repairs."

"Robots. Yeah, wouldn't that be fun," Neill said, a sour expression on his face.

"Still, I don't see anyone around," Lorne said after a moment. "Here's the plan. We'll split up into pairs, one group going left, the other right. If we can, we'll get in there, put the bomber to safe mode, and then head straight back to the gate. The Asgard can come pick it up and deal with any irate aliens who complain. If we spot anyone, we'll pull back and contact the SGC for reinforcements or instructions. Sound good?" There was general agreement from the team. "Great. Let's do this and get home. Dean, you're with me. Sam, with Neill."

Sam sighed and pushed himself off the comfortable, inviting ground. He gave Dean a half-hearted wave as they tromped down the slope and split off in different directions. He honestly didn't care at that point if the bomber was surrounded by aliens, robots, or the cheetahs or lions he had been half-expecting to attack since arriving. He just wanted to turn the damned thing off and get home to his bed.

"I think that once we get home," he said as they got closer, "I'm going to take a week off just to sleep. How about you?"

"Sleep would be good," Neill said. "But fishing would be better."

"Fishing. Seriously?"

"The alternative is finding a bar and seeing if there's anyone who meets my standards hanging around, but that would take entirely too much effort. So yes, fishing." Neill grinned. "You can come along if you want. I've got access to a cabin not too far from the Springs. It'd be nice. You, me, and nothing else but the great outdoors."

"Would this be normal fishing, or would it be like last time where there weren't any fish?"

"The actual fish are irrelevant. It's the process that's important."

"Unless you want to fry some."

"Hmm." Neill frowned. "You know, you've got a point there. The actual fish have seemed a lot more important the last few years. I still have to say the main thing is sitting on a dock with a beer and just relaxing with pleasant company."

Sam nodded. It did sound pretty nice, actually, and Dean had been saying he should get out more, maybe meet someone. Not that Dean was best guide for anything more involved than a drunken fumble, mind you, but the idea was similar. "You know, I might take you up on it," he said. Then, without looking over his shoulder, he said, "You hear that?"

"Someone at about seven o'clock?"

"Yeah. Several someones, I think."

Neill casually reached up and clicked his radio on. "Major Lorne, this is Jackson. Be advised that we've got someone trailing us."

"Copy that," Lorne replied. "What's your position?"

"We're about a quarter mile from… oh, for crying out loud." Neill stopped talking as a low, throbbing hum began to slowly become more and more apparent. He glanced upwards and Sam did the same. At first he saw nothing, but then he noticed a tiny speck in the cloudless sky that was growing larger by the second and resolving into a triangular shape.

"Shit," Sam said. "Is that a mothership?"

"That's a mothership," Neill confirmed. "Copse of trees to our left, make a break for it on three."

"Guys, we've got company," Lorne said over the radio, oblivious to Neill's instructions. "We've got a ha'tak in the air and possible Jaffa over here. You are ordered to return to the gate and inform Stargate Command of our situation."

"Ready when you are," Sam said, flipping off the safety on his P-90.

"One. Two. Three!"

As one Sam and Neill turned and let off quick bursts in the general direction of their stalkers, then turned again and sprinted toward a particularly dense cluster of trees. A hail of staff and zat blasts came back in reply, flying all over the place in a typical demonstration of Jaffa accuracy. They reached the relative safety of the trees with ease and hunkered down.

"I see four. No, five," Sam said, peering around a tree and taking a couple potshots.

Neill did the same a few seconds later. "Yeah, same here. There might be more further behind. I don't think we can go back that way."

"The major said to go back to the gate, not to the bomber," Sam pointed out.

Neill grinned and took another shot. "Who said anything about the bomber?"

"You were thinking it," Sam said with a smile of his own. "It is a lot closer, though. We're probably forty minutes from the gate, at least. Call it five, ten to the bomber, at most."

"That ha'tak's going to be landed pretty quick," Neill said. "I say we secure our objective and see if the scary Furling weapons can blow it up."

"Sounds good to me."

"Head for that next bunch of trees over at three o'clock. I'll cover you."

"Got it." Sam waited for Neill to lean out and fire before climbing to his feet and sprinting. He made it all of three yards before a staff blast caught his square in the back and sent him flying. The next thing he knew he was face-down in the dirt.

"Sam!" he heard Neill yell in the distance. That really didn't make sense; he was practically right on top of him. In fact, he was on top of him, trying to pull Sam back to safety and fire at the same time. It didn't hurt at all and for a moment he thought the anti-plasma armor in his vest had worked like a charm. That thought disappeared when he tried to scramble backwards and couldn't move his legs, couldn't even feel anything below his shoulders, and could barely even breath without chocking on something wet. He had just long enough to think about the wonders of spinal injuries and massive shock before he slipped into darkness.


	6. In Which Ba'al is Charming, Benevolent, and Seeking World Domination

Sam was extremely surprised to wake up. He was extremely concerned to find that he was doing so in a what seemed like a mix between a tanning bed and a coffin. A very small coffin. He had never been claustrophobic but that didn't stop him from experiencing a moment of shear primal panic. He started to raise his fists to beat against the top of the compartment then stopped, his mind finally catching up and realizing exactly what had happened. By then the lights around him began to fade away and a crack above Sam. It slowly widened until the sarcophagus cover had retracted entirely and Sam was left staring up at a metallic ceiling. He carefully lifted up his hands and flexed his fingers a few times, finding them in perfect working order. He realized after a moment that he was no longer wearing his tac vest and that he could feel cold metal under part of his back where there was a large hole through his shirts.

"Okay," he said to himself. "This is either very good or very, very bad."

Cautiously he sat up and immediately he settled on the latter option, both because of the distinctly Goa'uld architecture and the voice that came from behind him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Winchester," Ba'al said, his voice silky smooth and missing the usual Goa'uld flange. "I hope you're feeling better."

Sam twisted around so he could see Ba'al. He was lounging in a simple leather-padded chair. Standing his side was the same female Goa'uld who had been present at Pazuzu's underground laboratory.

"Well, I'm not dead," Sam said after a moment. "I'm not sure that's better."

Ba'al smiled as if Sam had told a joke. "Nonsense. I'm sure you've heard all sorts of horrible stories about me, but they're all exaggerations. I assure you, you will be quite comfortable. I have no desire to harm you. Quite the contrary, I want your assistance."

Sam climbed out of the sarcophagus and stood, wobbling just a bit. His entire body felt sore and drained, even more so than it had before, and his stomach was like an empty pit. "Your Jaffa killed me. I think that fits pretty much anyone's definition of harm."

Ba'al shrugged and spread his hands apologetically. "They were perhaps a bit overzealous. Good help is difficult to find these days. But as you can see, I have rectified the error."

Sam crossed his arms "Where's my brother and the rest of my team?"

"The young man you were with is aboard this vessel," Ba'al replied. "As for your brother and your commander, I must confess that we were unable to capture them. It's unfortunate; I was rather looking forward to meeting Dean again."

A shiver ran up Sam's spine at the implications of that innocuous-seeming statement. Ba'al might be far more reasonable than most Goa'uld, but that didn't mean he was the sort to easily forgive and forget slights, let alone a knife to the chest. Saying he hadn't captured the others didn't necessarily mean anything good, either. They might have escaped, yes, but if that was the case then Ba'al had a motive for telling Sam that. They might be permanently dead and it would still be the truth, just worded in a way to gloss over that fact. And, of course, Ba'al could just be lying and saving that revelation for the most beneficial moment.

After a moment, something else Ba'al had said also started to worry Sam.

"How do you know our names?" he asked.

"Ruby here has told me quite a bit about you," Ba'al said, waving his hand at the woman beside him. "She was one of Pazuzu's subordinates while he was playing his games on Earth, and after his demise I took her in."

"For which I am eternally grateful, my lord," Ruby said demurely.

"His experiments were really quite interesting, although unfortunately most of his data was destroyed by agents of your government and by your team in our last encounter," Ba'al continued. "And of course he failed miserably at accomplishing anything. Typical, really. He was a decent scientist and had grand ideas at times, but he always fell short when it came actually implementing his plans. Still, he appears to have succeeded in some of the actual science, if not his broader aims."

"You mean me."

"Precisely. Your potential abilities give you the capability to do great things, which is why I am very interested in some sort of mutually beneficially collaboration."

"Join you and together we will rule the galaxy," Sam said dryly.

"One thing at a time, my young friend," Ba'al said with a hearty laugh. "No, my present goals are few less grandiose. Surviving the present war with the Ori would be a nice start, and I believe it is a goal we share."

"Really? That's it?" Sam asked, not able to believe for a second that was all Ba'al wanted.

"For now? Certainly. Unlike most of my deceased fellow system lords, I know the value of patience." Ba'al shook his head. "You Tau'ri have taught me a great deal in recent years. If I knew fifty years ago some of the things I know now about organization and strategy, I would rule this galaxy. As things stand, I must aspire to simple goals such a staying alive. I can afford to wait a few hundred years before thinking of greater things."

"That's nice," Sam said. "I'm not going to help you, though."

"Oh, come now, Samuel. Even SG-1 has cooperated with me a few times on matters of mutual interest, and if such paragons of virtue can do so, surely you can as well."

"The answer's still no."

A flicker of annoyance passed across Ba'al's face before he smiled genially. "No matter. You'll change your mind once I've had a chance to explain things more thoroughly. Ruby, I'm sure our guest is tired and hungry after his ordeal. Take him to his quarters and see to it that he gets anything he needs - food, perhaps some new clothes."

"Yes, my lord," Ruby said. She gestured toward the door and Sam reluctantly started walking, with her following close behind. There were four Jaffa waiting outside who took up positions ahead and behind Sam and Ruby as they made their way into the winding passages of what Sam had to assume was the mothership he had seen earlier.

"Well, you really screwed up this time, Sammy," Ruby said.

"Don't call me that," Sam said sharply.

Ruby smirked. "Oooh, someone's touchy. I'm just saying that getting caught by Ba'al is a pretty dumb move, even by Winchester standards."

"Yeah, well, at least I'm not the one who apparently latched on to the next lame-ass overlord to come along after her last boss died."

"I prefer to think of it as a mutually beneficial association." Ruby smiled slyly. "Although maybe one that's drawing to a close now that you're here."

Sam frowned and glanced around at the Jaffa. "Um, please don't mistake this for anything like actual concern for you, but should you be saying that in front of them?"

Ruby laughed. "Please, they're not paying any attention. Their minds are weak and easily distracted. Ba'al really should be a little less liberal with the use of his mind-control technology."

Indeed, the Jaffa were marching along with their eyes glued straight ahead, not reacting at all to anything Sam and Ruby were saying. Their expressions were completely blank as well.

"Cool trick," he said. "So what's the plan? Going to stab him in the back and use me for your own nefarious purposes, maybe with some evil laughter? 'Cause I'm not going to help you any more than I will him, and I'm pretty sure all the other Ba'als might get a little pissed."

"Nothing quite so dramatic if I can avoid it. No, I just want to carry out a few plans that I've been forced to put on hold due to recent events. Ba'al's just a means to an end. You, on the other hand, could be an equal partner if you wanted."

"What, just like what Ba'al is?" Sam asked with an incredulous snort. "Actually, I'm really not seeing why I shouldn't mention this conversation to him."

That just caused Ruby to smile some more. "Because I'm your best chance at getting home alive."

"I'll be fine without you, thanks."

"You're a smart boy, Sam. You know you need all the help you can get. Don't let your stubbornness get you and your buddy killed."

"Whatever," he said, looking away. He didn't want to admit she was right, but in the end she might very well be. Escaping would be difficult at best, and if he could somehow play Ruby and Ba'al against each other — preferably in a way that left them both dead — it would definitely help his chances.

"You're thinking about it," she said. "You know, that's one reason you were always Azazel's favorite. You're so intelligent, so strong-willed, and always willing to consider compromise when you need to."

Sam stopped short. One of the Jaffa almost bumped into him without even noticing before Ruby held up a hand to stop them. "Azazel," he repeated. "You're the second person I've heard use that name. Everyone else calls him Pazuzu. The Asgard do, the Tok'ra, Ba'al, even the writing on the ship we found in Wyoming talked about the mighty Pazuzu. But not you, and not one of the Furlings. Why? Who are you?"

"That's for me to know and you not to," she replied.

"Oh, come on," he said. "It's not like Ruby is your real name anyways. Can't you tell me what it is? "

She pretended to think about it. "I don't see why."

"Because you want me to help you, and I don't see how you can expect me to do that if you won't even tell me your real name."

"It's Lasciel," Ruby blurted. Her eyes widened in surprised for a moment, then narrowed as she studied him. "Huh. It figures he'd do that part right. You can still call me Ruby, though. It's only polite to use a person's preferred name, Sammy. Now come on."

Her answer explained absolutely nothing at all, and if anything, it left Sam with even more questions. "But —"

"Jaffa, kree!"

The Jaffa instantly snapped out of their zombie state and gave Sam a rough shove forward. He stumbled and started walking, glaring daggers at Ruby's back. After a minute they turned down a final short hall and came to a wide blast door. Ruby punched a code into the control panel and the door rumbled upwards. She waved him inside.

He cautiously stepped over the threshold and looked around. What he found was no dungeon or jail cell, but rather luxuriously appointed cabin. It was spacious and had a wide window covering most of the wall on the right side. There were several couches and armchairs, a small dining table, and under the window was a bed that was easily large enough to fit three or four people with room to spare.

Neill was sitting on the bed with his knees held against his chest. He stared at Sam and Ruby with wide, fear-filled eyes and after a moment Sam realized he was trembling. Sam quickly crossed the room to sit down at Neill's side and put an arm around his shoulder.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Neill replied, voice shaky. "I'm fine."

"Make yourself comfortable," Ruby called from the door. "I'll be back with food."

The hatch slid shut again with a resounding thump. Sam opened his mouth to ask Neill what had happened to him, but Neill placed a single finger against his lips. Neill waited until the sound of the Jaffas' footsteps were gone, then shrugged Sam's arm off and uncurled.

"So, have fun while you were dead?" Neill asked as he stood. It was like a switch had been flipped when the door closed. One moment he was cowering like a frightened rabbit, the next he was cool and completely in control of himself.

"It was… well, nothing," Sam said. "What's up with you?"

"Hmm?" Neill walked over to the wall and started lightly rapping his knuckles against the metal paneling at regular intervals. "Oh, that. I'm just a harmless scientist completely out of his league. Nothing to see here, move along."

Sam blinked in surprise. "I guess that makes sense. Our chances are better if they underestimate us."

Neill chuckled darkly. "Yeah, that and if Ba'al figures out who I am, we're so completely fucked that even Daniel wouldn't know enough words to describe it." He side-stepped a foot and started knocking down another set of panels. "Not, mind you, that this is going to be fun as it is, but the snake would get a real kick out of playing around with me."

"Your mysterious past is going to bite us in the ass?" Sam asked.

"Only if he finds out before we either escape or kill him." Neill shook his head. "He seems to have done a pretty good job at sealing us in here. I've checked all the usual places for access hatches and vents, but they're locked up tight. Unless you can wiggle down the drain in the bath, the only way in and out is through that door."

"Wonderful." Sam got off the bed and started doing a circuit around the room, looking for anything that might be useful for escaping. He doubted that Neill had missed anything, but it gave Sam something to do to calm his nerves.

"How long was I gone?" Sam asked as he worked.

"About four hours," Neill answered. "I can't be sure, they took my watch along with everything else. They even extracted the transponder chip from my arm."

"Isn't that supposed to be a secret?"

"Ba'al figured it out years ago. He even liked the idea so much that he tagged all his clones."

"Great. That's just great," Sam said. It figured that they'd get captured by one of the rare intelligent evil overlords. Ba'al had certainly taken care to insure there was nothing in the room they could use, at least not without being blatantly obvious about it - the furniture was too heavy to lift as a weapon and even a Jaffa couldn't miss it if they broke a chair or tore up the silk sheets to use as ropes. He moved on to the bathroom, which was dominated by a gigantic whirlpool tub. The only things in there were several bottles of soaps, shampoos, and a couple of poofy scrub things made in Taiwan, which might be helpful if they wanted to clean Ba'al to death.

He picked up one of the soap bottles and returned to the main room. "So, do you have any kind of plan?"

"Ba'al wants something from us, otherwise he wouldn't have taken us alive," Neill replied. "It might just be curiosity about why we were poking around the same planet he was, or something more nefarious."

"The way he was talking, he's interested in something about me," Sam said. He knelt down in front of the door and popped the soap open. Putting a little on his finger, he started to carefully draw a circle on the floor.

"You should try to string him along if you can," Neill said. "Cooperate a bit so we can figure out exactly what he's really up to."

Sam winced. "I already told him to go screw himself."

"That's fine, he wouldn't believe it if you gave in too easily." Neill glanced down at Sam with a puzzled frown. "What are you doing?"

"Testing a hypothesis," Sam said. He finished the circle and started to draw the inner pentagram of a devil's trap. He wished he had a permanent marker, chalk, or some paint, but he was fairly sure he could work with what he had. "I think we may be dealing with more than just Ba'al here."

"Another Goa'uld?"

"Maybe. Maybe not." Sam finished the trap and stood up. "We'll just have to see, I guess."

They didn't have to wait long before they could hear people coming down the hall. Despite having seen the transformation once already, Sam was still amazed at how thoroughly Neill's entire bearing changed. His breaths were shorter and came faster, his body tensed up and started to shiver occasionally, and he hunched in on himself. He also moved so that he was standing so close to Sam they were almost touching, in a position that put Neill to the side and just a little behind him.

The door opened to reveal Ruby and several Jaffa carrying trays. She started to take a step in but paused with one foot mid-air, then slowly stepped back and looked downward. She clucked her tongue and slowly shook her head, lifting her eyes to pierce Sam with a glare.

"Cute, Sam," she said. "Really cute."

She stepped aside and let the Jaffa walk through first, thoroughly smudging the trap on the floor, before coming in herself. The Jaffa took the trays they were carrying over to the table and started setting out the contents. Sam's mouth started to water immediately at the sight of thick steaks, baked potatoes, salads, and fresh bread. Intellectually he knew they were probably some kind of _evil_ steaks and potatoes, but his stomach didn't really care. Another Jaffa sat down a pile of folded clothes on one of the chairs. Their tasks done, the Jaffa retreated out the door, leaving Ruby alone with Sam and Neill.

"It's going to get cold if you don't start eating," Ruby said when neither of them moved. "We'll be counting the utensils we get back, by the way."

Sam and Neill looked at each other and shrugged, then walked over to the table and sat down. There wasn't much point in worrying about whether it was poisoned or tainted with some kind of mind-altering chemicals. Sooner or later they would have to eat, and if they didn't keep their strength up it could leave them unable to escape if an opportunity presented itself.

"This is okay," Sam said after taking a couple of bites. "A little tough, though."

"Sam," Neill hissed. "Don't piss her off."

"Sorry," Sam said, playing along.

"You guys want to tell me what you were up to?" Ruby asked after a minute. Neill opened his mouth but closed it again when Sam shook his head. She saw the exchange and sighed. "Fine, be that way. I'd wager that the Asgard or the Nox picked up the pulse beacon I used the find that bomber in the hold and sent their errand boys to look into it. You and your team probably have codes or an authentication key to get into it."

"Something like that," Sam admitted after a minute. "But they didn't give us anything but a scanner, and Dean had that. We've got nothing."

"Really," she said flatly. "Nothing at all."

"Nothing, we swear," Neill said. "They didn't tell us anything at all except to go to a list of planets and report back if we found something. That's it."

"That would fit the Nox's usual sanctimonious stick-up-the-ass attitude," Ruby said. "But the Asgard? They're more practical than that. They would have given you the codes to open it up and set the weapons systems to safe mode so they could come get it."

Sam wondered why she didn't mention the Furlings or the absent Ancients, but kept his mouth shut about it. "Maybe they gave those to Major Lorne, but we sure don't have them."

"They would have given one of you two a set as well, because part of the security system is that no one person is supposed to know more than one codes." Ruby smiled at them. "I know you're not going to believe this, but I don't want the bomber for any nefarious reasons. I just want the weapons inside so that I can find a nice planet to relax on and not have to worry about the Ori or Asgard coming along and ruining things. That's all."

"What, ah, what kind of weapons?" Neill asked timidly.

She shrugged. "Some kind of strategic deterrent. All I had was its rough location and pulse-beacon code. This class of ship was designed to carry a number of payload types — zero-point impellers, nanoholes, collapsed antimatter, that sort of stuff. Planet-crackers and star-snuffers, basically."

Sam burst out laughing. "And you want us to help you get a hold of that sort of thing? You can't be serious."

"Better me than Ba'al. He'd use them on someone." Ruby sighed and crossed her arms. "This shouldn't be this hard. The deal I'm proposing is simple. You help me get that bomber activated, which you should be able to do with our without the codes. In return, I take you to a safe planet and let you go home unharmed."

"Stop right there," Sam said firmly. "I'm not going to listen to any more until you give me a straight answer about what makes me so special and who the hell you really are. Otherwise, I'm just going to tell Ba'al about this and see if he'll show some gratitude for that."

Ruby rolled her eyes. "Threats are unbecoming, Sam. Besides, if you did that, I'd tell him that he's got his dear friend Jack O'Neill here."

Sam gaped at her in shock, wondering how she could possibly know that. Neill's reaction was much faster and much more aggressive. In one sharp, smooth motion, he flung himself out of his chair and across the room to Ruby, shoving her back against the wall and putting his steak knife to her throat.

"How about we try a different deal?" he growled. "You give us the code to the door and directions to the hangar, and I don't cut your throat. Let me tell you, sarcophagus or no, drowning in your own blood's a bitch of a way to go."

Ruby smirked and her eyes suddenly turned pitch black. An instant later Neill was tossed across the room and pinned to the opposite wall by an invisible force. Sam tried to get up and rush at her, but he found himself stopped short before he got two feet.

"What are you?" he asked. It was a question no one had been able to figure out, to the considerable discomfort of everyone at the SGC. Pazuzu or Azazel or whatever the hell Ol' Yellow eyes was really called had been more than just a regular Goa'uld, displaying unusual powers usually associated with priors or other advanced beings. More than that, his two 'children' had shown eyes that turned black instead of gold and possessed the ability to jump hosts as clouds of oily black smoke. The best explanation that anyone had come up with was failed experiments was ascension, and as no one had ever seen anything like them since, there was no way to confirm or deny that. Now Ruby was standing there and displaying the same kind of powers.

"If I tell you, will you take the deal?" she replied.

"No, but it'll make it a hell of lot more likely."

Ruby gave him an exasperated look, but relented. "What I am depends on who you ask. Ba'al thinks I'm Lamastu, just another of thousands of Goa'uld who never amounted to anything." She smiled slyly and tapped a finger just behind her ear, not far from where a symbiote would reside. "But poor Lamastu's not alone in here. She was with Pazuzu when he started poking around a Furling internment facility he'd discovered in the hopes of finding some technology. Instead he woke up something he shouldn't have and found that he was no longer in control of himself. Irony's a bitch, isn't it?"

"Internment facility?" Sam said, probing to find out more.

"A prisoner of war camp, from a civil conflict that occurred while the Alterrans were still poking your species into the great leap forward. Apparently while everyone was tossing around nukes, they forgot where the four of us were." Ruby shook her head and chuckled. "That's bureaucracy for you."

"And where do I and the other psychic kids fit in?"

"You were going to be the leaders of Azazel's new army. Not only would you have some useful mental abilities, but you're something of a technological skeleton key. ATA gene from your mother, a bit of neural manipulation to insert Furling memetic ID sequences, and a little blood transfusion to give you naquadah and Goa'uld protein markers."

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "And then what — world and galactic domination?"

"Pretty much. It should have worked — the Nox were in seclusion, the Ancients had all ascended, and the Asgard were off in their own galaxy." Ruby waved at Neill. "Then his predecessor and Daniel Jackson opened the gate, Lantean exiles started popping up all over the place, and your brother went and shot Azazel with a naquadah-laced bullet. You know what they say about the best-laid plans." She walked over to him, gently placed her hand on his shoulder, and looked into his eyes. "I don't care about any of that, though. I just want to find somewhere to live out my life in peace. Well, peace and luxury."

It seemed too nice and reasonable to be believed, but Ruby sounded sincere and there was a certain amount of sense to what she was saying. Either way, it didn't matter to Sam in the least. "That's all nice, but I'm not helping you," he said.

"Why the hell not?" she exclaimed.

"Because your pal Azazel killed my mother, and my dad, and the woman I loved, and damn near killed Dean too," he replied, voice low and heated. "As far as I can tell, you didn't give a shit about that or do anything to stop it, and so you can go to hell for all I care."

Ruby threw up her hands in disgust. "Fine. We'll see what you say after you tell Ba'al the same thing and he turns your brain into chunky salsa." She stormed off to the door and angrily punched a long code into the door control.

"Ruby," Sam said before she could leave. "What happened to my brother?"

She looked over her shoulder. "He and the major weren't captured, but I doubt they made it off the planet. There was no gate activity and we nuked the area from orbit after taking off." She hesitated and her expression softened almost imperceptibly. "I'm sorry."

The door shut behind her. Across the room, Neill was released from the wall and promptly tumbled down to land on his rear with an audible thump.

"Ow," he said. "Well, I think I can see why Daniel finds priors so annoying. I think I broke my ass."

"Is this really the time for jokes?" Sam asked indignantly.

"Trust me, a serious situation is the best time for jokes," Neill said. He climbed to his feet, walked back to the table, and sat down. "It's also a good time to eat."

Sam sighed and reluctantly returned to the table as well. The food was already getting lukewarm and it may as well have been cardboard for all he cared about the taste.

Neill seemed far more enthusiastic about his meal. "So, any platitudes you want to hear? Maybe an assurance that your brother's alive?"

"Are you trying to comfort me?" Sam asked. "Because you suck at it if you are."

Neill shrugged. "I figured I may as well ask, in case you were the type to cling to false hope. Your brother's either dead or he's not. There's nothing you can do about it either way. Our duty is to prevent Ba'al from getting anything useful from you or that bomber, to escape, and to complete our mission, in that order. Anything else will have to wait until we get those taken care of."

Sam felt a flash of anger that came and went in a moment, leaving behind an odd feeling of calm. Neill was probably right to be blunt, and his points were sound. Besides, Dean had gotten out of bad situations before. He could take care of himself, maybe better than he could with Sam along for the ride.

"What about Ruby?"

"I don't know what to make of her. She sounds on the level, but she could just be a good actress." Neill frowned and cut off the next bite of his steak with more force than was necessary. "What I do know is that if our so-called advanced friends knew she was around, Thor and I are going to have a chat about need to know information."

"So do we work with her or what?"

"If we have to. In my opinion, we may be better off with the devil we don't know than the one that we do." Neill sighed and closed his eyes. "Although I may need you to make that call. My judgment about him isn't necessarily sound."

"Oh." Sam didn't like the sound of that in the least. If even half the stories around the SGC were to be believe, then Neill should be an excellent strategist and leader, capable of making even the hardest calls. Insane, maybe, but capable. If he was doubting himself, that spelled more trouble than Sam was sure he could handle.

Quietly, he asked, "What are our best and worst case scenarios with Ba'al?"

"Best case is that he needs our active cooperation, which may be true given that we're not in a dungeon. He might use drugs to get cooperation, though. Worst case is that he breaks us through physical means. He'll repeatedly torture us to death and revive us with the sarcophagus until either we give in or it strips us of our humanity." Neill bit his lower lip and stared at his plate. "Second-worst is that he needs your cooperation and in order to get it he does that to just me. Again."

"That doesn't sound like my idea of a vacation," Sam said, trying to lighten the mood like Neill had been doing only moments earlier. "So in that case we should agree to cooperate."

"Except…" Neill said, looking up again and waving a finger in a 'go on' motion.

"Except he wouldn't buy it, like you said earlier," Sam said, biting down on a groan. "So we let him rough us up then do it."

"And once we get more information, we take action, with or without Ruby's help," Neill finished. "It's a sucky plan, I admit, but it's our best bet."

Sam sighed. "Well, on the bright side, I've had a couple of years to get used to having the shit beaten out of me by werewolves and ghosts and other crap. Oh, sorry — genetically engineered lupine mutants and post-mortem mental impressions."

Neill chuckled. "Leave it to the government to suck all the fun out of ghostbusting, eh?"

"I don't know. The way some of our friends are talking, the giant pay checks can make up for it." Sam smiled. The last he had heard, Bobby was having way too much fun destroying the beliefs of highly skilled government scientists. "Although now that I think about it, this entire 'getting captured' thing may turn out to be a good thing once word gets out in the hunting community that Dean and I were the ones who finally convinced the feds that the supernatural is real. They can't shoot me if they can't find me."

"Words to live by," Neill said with a soft smile of his own. "You must have some wild stories to tell after all this time. Want to share?"

"Only if I get to learn the deepest secrets of SG-1. You're asking me to talk about family, after all."

"We're probably about to die horribly, so I don't see what it'd hurt to share."

They swapped stories as they finished their meal and continued even after a pair of Jaffa returned, one guarding the door with a drawn zat while the other gathered up their plates and carefully counted the utensils. Sam started off with the tale of Dean's unfortunate and literally emasculating experience with a witch in a bar, from which he had learned nothing about being a gentleman. Neill responded with the tragic romance of Doctor Jackson and the Six-Legged Monkeys of Padgarosa. Sam told him about the Zombie Cow of Doom; Neill replied in turn with the adventures of Cam Mitchell and the Clothes-Eating Land-Octopus of Embarrassment. They both had far too many stories involving creature-related slime to possibly tell in one sitting. By unspoken agreement, they steered well clear of anything that wasn't funny or involved people dying. Well, anyone important dying, that was - Jaffa were fine. Shapeshifters were also fine. Annoying know-it-alls hoisted by their own petards were a-okay. Friends or innocent people with shitty luck were right out, though.

Ba'al had failed to provide any alternative forms of entertainment, and as they both knew from long experience that it was usually best to sleep when you could, they soon migrated to the gigantic bed. It was roughly the size of Sam's entire freshman-year dorm room and far more comfortable than any of the other beds they had been forced the share over the last few weeks. It had a real mattress, for one thing, and no rats scurrying around it in the dark. There also weren't bullet holes in the headboard or any cracks in the ceiling that poison darts could be blown through.

Dean had really been cranky after that planet.

"I should get captured with you more often," Neill commented. "I never got digs with the other team."

"I'd be careful about saying that if I were you," Sam said. "Normally I get tied up in basements or caves. Or sewers — that one was fun."

"Mmm. Yeah, did that one once."

On the spur of the moment, Sam said, "By the way, when we get home I'll take you up on that offer of, uh, fishing. I think I'm going to need to let off some steam. If it's still open, that is."

Neill grinned. "Great. It'll be something to look forward to, then."

Sam felt a little bit absurd for having brought it up at all, what with their possible deaths-by torture looming, but that seemed as good a reason to do so. It was an implicit promise that there would be someone still there in the end, even if the rest of the team never made it back. Sam didn't know what he would do if Dean was dead, but he'd seen far too many other hunters and soldiers turn into something ugly after loosing the people they were close to. Sam had already come closer to the edge than he'd like to remember when Jess had died, but Dean had been there. If Dean was gone now, there was no doubt in Sam's mind that he'd kill every last Ba'al for it; at the same time he didn't want to turn into his father.

That was how he thought about it, at least; for all Sam knew Neill was laying there and wondering if his last teammate had just gone 'round the bend.

Sam slept like the dead, despite the situation; even if he'd wanted to stay up worrying all night his exhausted body wouldn't have let him. It wasn't just the lack of sleep, but the effects of the sarcophagus. The process of rebuilding tired out the user's body, unless it was already healthy - and if that was the case, sarcophagus psychosis set in even faster. A single trip through while dead was harmless. Five trips, ten trips, more, all in close proximity… who knew what that might do to a person. Nothing good, probably.

They were woken an indeterminate time later by a pair of Jaffa, who stomped into the room with all their usual grace and stealth.

"Lord Ba'al commands that you attend him as he breaks his fast," the larger of the two proclaimed. "You have thirty minutes to bathe yourselves and dress."

"Christ," Sam said, trying to pull a pillow over his head. "Can't he wait?"

"A god does not wait for ones such as you," the Jaffa pronounced. He was apparently incapable of just saying anything.

"I thought Ba'al had given up on all the god crap," Neill said. He yanked the pillow away from Sam and then crawled across an acre of bed. The Jaffa didn't reply, just stood there with his companion and glowered for a moment before stepping back outside.

Neill and Sam each took about ten minutes to get washed up and take care of other morning necessities, although Ba'al and his minions had forgotten to supply razors to shave with. Sam couldn't imagine why. After bathing he put on the clothes Ba'al had provided, because the shirts he had been wearing had been thoroughly ruined. There were socks, boxers, slacks, and a long-sleeved silk shirt, all of some fancy brand that Sam didn't recognize and probably cost a few thousand dollars in New York or Paris. He stubbornly put his own boots back on rather than the slippers that had come with the rest, and when he emerged from the bathroom he saw Neill had done the same. It was a small measure of defiance, if ultimately meaningless; it did have the benefit of probably not getting them killed a couple times by actually pissing off Ba'al.

The Jaffa lead them across the ship and through a pair of rings to another level until they eventually reached a dining room. Ba'al was seated at one end of a ornately carved wood table and at the opposite end two more places were laid out, leaving an open space that Sam's experienced eye judged as just outside effective lunging distance. The silverware and flatware were finer than anything Sam had ever seen, even when sneaking into high-class receptions. The food was less fancy: bowls of fruit, fried potatoes, bacon, and waffles with syrup.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Ba'al said genially. "Thank you for joining me."

"We wouldn't miss it for the world," Sam said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. Neill, he noticed, was once more doing his scared rabbit routine. They sat down and the Jaffa tromped away to stand at the door.

"I do hope you'll enjoy your meals," Ba'al continued. "I made sure to have something you'd be comfortable with prepared. Please, dig in."

"Thank you," Sam said. He cautiously ate a strip of bacon; like the meal from the previous night it didn't taste poisoned or otherwise evil, but it still didn't mean anything.

"It was no trouble," Ba'al said with a dismissive wave of his hand. He started cutting up his own waffles. "Honestly, I've grown to rather enjoy your Tau'ri food. It's insidious. I expect there will a McDonalds and a Chinese takeout place on half the planets in the galaxy within a decade or two."

Sam and Neill eyed each other incredulously. Sam wasn't sure what would be worse — that Ba'al was fucking with their heads, or that Ba'al might really be making friendly conversation about food. More likely it was both, Sam decided after a moment.

"I'd like to think Earth has more to offer than artery-clogging food," Neill muttered, cringing as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

Ba'al chuckled. "You planet has much to recommend it. It's one reason I never bothered to destroy it."

"That and the fact that we kicked your ass every time you tried," Sam said.

"Perhaps, or perhaps I simply never put much effort into making it happen." Ba'al waved his fork. "In any case, please, eat up. We have a long day ahead of us and you don't want to face it on an empty stomach."

"I'm still no going to work with you," Sam said around a mouthful of waffle. Ba'al had somehow managed to acquire genuine maple syrup.

"Uh, yeah, what he said," Neill added.

"We shall see," Ba'al said.

What followed next were the thirty most excruciatingly awkward and creepy minutes of small talk that Sam had ever experienced. Ba'al asked about current events, how the stock market was doing, whether they were rooting for any team in particular in college football, and what their opinion was on the newest Harry Potter book. He smiled a lot and appeared genuinely interested, and there wasn't so much as a trace of menace in his voice. Sam knew damned well that he wasn't really as friendly as he seemed and that it was all a calculated show; what was more, he knew that Ba'al knew that he knew. It was all a big game to Ba'al, one he thought he would win no matter how Sam and Neill reacted. If they played along, he won; if they refused, he could enjoy himself other ways.

After the dishes were taken away, Ba'al steepled his fingers and leaned forward. It was a pose that drew attention to the ribbon device that wrapped around his arm and covered his palm.

"So, shall we discuss the terms of your employment?" he asked.

Sam nodded slowly. "I don't have anything better to do."

"Excellent. I am offering you a life of considerable luxury. Fine food, drink, female companionship: anything you desire, you will need only to ask."

"Cable?"

"I'm sure something could be arranged."

"A ticket back to Earth."

Ba'al's lips quirked upwards. "Perhaps I should have said 'almost anything'. I'm afraid your stay here will be protracted, although eventually it may be possible for you to go home."

Sam thought he might not even be lying. The catch was that by the time he could do such a thing, Ba'al would probably have made very certain he wouldn't desire to do so anymore. "You know what they say about gilded cages."

"That they're considerably more pleasant than a literal cage?"

Sam tipped his head in acknowledgment of that point. "What about Neill?"

"There's no reason he can't remain with you and be equally comfortable, so long as he doesn't cause trouble."

Sam bit his lip. "What do you want in return?"

Ba'al smiled. "Your brain."

"My what?" Sam shouted. Neill flinched; Ba'al only smiled more broadly.

"Oh, Samuel, it's not like I want to eat it or something. I need it intact and functioning properly, otherwise I would have already vivisected you." Ba'al leaned forward. "You have an enhanced physiology that should give you mental powers. While I am aware you've been unable to access them, the potential is there. We simply need to find a way to unlock it."

"And then what?"

"Why, I study how they work, of course. I'm aware that Stargate Command has been conducting similar research, and with the same goal — finding out how these powers are induced in a standard human brain and more importantly how to make them stop working. Anti-Prior devices are only a stopgap at present. A more effective means to neutralize their powers, preferably at a much greater distance than is possible right now, is vital to our ability to resist the Ori."

Sam laughed sharply in disbelief. "Sure, and you'd never use whatever you discover for to improve your own host."

"In the long term? Perhaps. But that sort of project isn't something you can do in a week. The neural interconnections between symbiote and host are incredibly complex, and as you imagine they can affect the functionality of higher abilities."

There it was, laid out in plain language, and Sam could even believe Ba'al was being completely up front about it. There were no promises of quick release or even that the research wouldn't be used to Ba'al's own ends, and the need was certainly there. For the first time, Sam started to wonder if maybe he really should cooperate.

He glanced at Neill, then asked, "You send Neill home. Once I have hard evidence he's safe, I'll help you."

"What?" Neill squawked, genuine outrage peeking through his cover. "No!"

"You also share the results of your research with Earth," Sam went on.

Ba'al considered it for a moment and shook his head. "No, I'm afraid that's quite impossible. Once they know I have you, they'll be looking for you. They give me and my fellows quite enough trouble as it is without having SG teams crawling all over the galaxy looking for a missing man that I'm conducting evil experiments on."

"Then I'm afraid it's quite impossible for me to help you," Sam replied.

"I'm being very generous," Ba'al calmly said.

"You should have thought about cooperation before you killed my brother," Sam said, just as calm.

"Samuel —"

Very carefully, Sam said in Goa'uld, "_Your spawn-queen's host was a syphilitic whore, and I would sooner fuck the rotting corpse of an Unas than help a pathetic, failed worm like you._"

Ba'al's eyes flashed and in a deep, resonant voice he said, "Perhaps I should explain the alternatives."

He flicked his hand and the ribbon device flashed; Sam had just enough time to realize this was going to really, really hurt before he was hit with a tremendous force that flung him from his chair and halfway across the room. He hid the deck hard and skidded almost to the bulkhead. Behind him Neill yelled his name in panic and got up, but first froze and then ducked under the table when Ba'al rose and stalked across the room.

Sam tried to struggle to his feet and managed to get up on his knees before finding himself staring straight into the red crystal at the center of Ba'al's hand. It flare brilliantly, so bright that Sam tried to squeeze his eyes shut only to find he couldn't do it, couldn't look away or turn his head or do anything but whine and grit his teeth as it started to _hurt_.

"You see, Samuel," Ba'al said in a conversational tone, even as the pain went from bad sunburn to a faceful of bee stings to being douses with kerosene and set on fire, "there _is_ a stick that goes along with the carrot."

It got worse and worse and Sam knew his face had to be cracking and charring while every bit of bravado he'd had moments before burnt away with his skin. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, even beg, but all that came out was a hoarse, agonized cry.

"Stop it!" Neill shouted, still under the table. Ba'al did and the pain stopped instantly. Even in his dazed state Sam knew something was wrong, knew there had been entirely too much steel mixed in with the concern in Neill's voice, and he could see a glimmer of confused recognition in Ba'al's eyes.

Sam did the only thing he could: pant, "Fuck. You," and spit on Ba'al's shoes.

Ba'al snarled and the pain came back a thousand-fold. It was every migraine Sam had ever experienced at once; it was every nerve in his body ablaze and every bone in his body twisted and broken. He screamed and didn't stop until he had to gasp for breath, then screamed some more, and when Ba'al stopped an eternity later and released him from the device's field he slumped down and curled up on the floor.

"I can keep this up for a very long time," Ba'al told him. He squatted a few feet from Sam so he could look him in the eye. "In fact, I have a number of tools at my disposal that are considerably more effective at inducing pain and injury."

"It won't work," Sam whispered.

Ba'al raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah," Sam said, a little stronger. "Because there's not much you can do. You can't kill me and use the sarcophagus too many times, because it'll mess with my mind. You can't drug me, because it'll change my brain chemistry. And since ascension and mental powers involve inner peace and strength of will and all that shit, if you break me through torture you'll never get what you want. So face it, you're screwed."

Ba'al didn't look too disgruntled at that. He stood and said, "The capacity that SG team members have for self-sacrifice never ceases to amaze me. Of course, it's also one of your weaknesses." Sam knew what was coming next, knew he just had to hold out a little longer before giving in and at least saying he'd help. Sure enough, Ba'al shouted, "Jaffa, kree! Bring the boy!" To Sam he added, "Let's see what your friend thinks of your stubbornness."

The two Jaffa left their place at the door and strode to the table. Underneath it Neill cringed and tried to keep a chair between them, but they yanked it away. The leader bent down and reached under the table to seize Neill.

Instead, he was the one who was seized. Neill grabbed his forearm and pulled hard, slamming the Jaffa's head into the side of the table, then added a kick to the throat that left the Jaffa gurgling on the deck. The other Jaffa stepped back and reached for a weapon but Neill was too fast, already snatching the first Jaffa's zat from its holster and bringing up to fire twice in quick succession.

Ba'al spun around and raised his hand even as Neill climbed to his feet and sprinted. He was slow, far too slow; Sam knew there was no way Neill would make it before Ba'al could fire and there was no way he'd miss at that range. Once he was down Ba'al was sure to realize he'd been deceived and investigate.

Sam tried to move and his entire body resisted, still mind and nerves still reeling. He focused hard, trying with all his might just to move his arm just a little or kick at Ba'al's feet, poured every bit of his being into fucking with Ba'al's aim.

At the last second it happened: Sam didn't move, but something caused Ba'al to stumble forward just a little. It wasn't much, barely even love tap, but it meant that instead of smashing Neill's body Ba'al's blast crumpled the deck plate a yard to the left. That was all the opening Neill needed; before Ba'al could fire again Neill took him down hard with a flying tackle. They rolled and Neill came up on top, pining Ba'al with knee between the shoulders. He raised his stolen zat high and then brought it slamming down.

Then did it again.

And again.

And Neill kept doing it until Sam managed to get to his knees and crawl over to grab his arm mid-swing. Neill turned and struck with his left hand, barely pulling his blow in time to keep from smashing Sam's tracheae and damned near breaking his collar instead. The other hand and the zat were covered with blood, bone, and bits of gray matter.

"I think he's dead," Sam said after they stared at each other for a minute.

Neill's eyes were wild and unfocused and his body was shaking. He nodded sharply after a second, said, "Yeah," and promptly scrambled a few feet away to empty his stomach. Sam crawled after him and hesitantly put his hand on Neill's back, rubbing in a way he hoped was comforting and wouldn't get him shot.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," Neill said after a last few dry heaves. "That… wasn't nearly as satisfying as I'd imagined."

"Oh." Sam ran his other hand through is hair. "That's actually kinda reassuring."

"Sorry. I knew that wasn't the plan, but he was… you were screaming and I knew I was next and…." Neill trailed off before repeating. "Sorry. I wasn't ready for it, I'll do better next time."

"I guess it does solve a lot of our problems, though," Sam said, going for cheerful and not quite managing it.

Neill climbed to his feet and helped Sam up too, then raised the zat and shot Ba'al three times. A few moments later and all that was a left was a pile of dust, the smell of ozone, and a mess on the floor.

"What next?" Sam asked.

"We finish the mission," Neill said. "We'll head to the pel'tac, see if we can get control of the ship and steer it somewhere we can signal the Asgard to come and get their damned bomber."

Sam shook his head. "Hangar first. We should disarm it. That way it'll be safe for them to come and we can make sure Ruby can't get her claws into it."

"Right. Good point." He pointed at one of the dead Jaffa. "Grab his zat and let's go."

Sam did and they made their way out into the corridor, with Neill in the lead as he at least looked like he knew . There was no sign that anyone had notice Ba'al was now an ex-Goa'uld, and there was no telling how long it would be before someone checked on him. Ba'al didn't strike Sam as the sort who liked being interrupted while enjoying himself. If they were lucky, they might make it to their destination without being spotted.

They were spotted as soon as they came around the last turn before the rings. It took Sam a moment to realize who they'd stumbled across, mostly because looking down the barrel of an assault rifle.

"Dean?" he said in surprise.

"Sammy?"

"Dean!" Sam threw himself at his brother pulled him into a tight hug, ignoring the outraged and embarrassed noises Dean made and squeezing for all he was worth. "I thought you were dead," he managed to say, blinking tears from his eyes.

"Dude, get off," Dean grunted. "I'm fine, but if you don't let go I'm gonna shoot you." Sam did let go after a few more moments, mostly because Dean was in need of a shower.

"Major Lorne," Neill said off to the side.

"Mr. Jackson."

"Nice to see you. You want to explain how you happen to be here?" Neill, Sam suddenly realized, hadn't lowered his zat.

Lorne shrugged. "We were already at the crash site when the mothership started coming down. When they grabbed you, we figured out best chance to get aboard was to hitch a ride inside."

"What, and you waited until now to come get us?" Neill said, deceptively calm, and for a moment Sam wonders if he's going to have to keep Neill from bashing Lorne's head in too.

"Had to make sure they'd had time to revive Sam," Lorne answered. "And it took us this long to figure out how to use the sensors and find you. Once you started killing people, we thought we'd pay a visit."

"Oh." Neill's eyebrows rose. "Okay, makes sense. Pel'tac?"

"Pel'tac," Lorne confirmed.

"What the hell's a pel'tac?" Dean asked, taking point.

"Bridge," Sam answered, and that brought something else up. "Chances are pretty good Ruby's up there, and if she is we could be in a lot of trouble."

"Ruby?"

"One of Yellow-Eyes' minions," Sam said.

"Shit," Dean said. "Another ascend-o-snake?"

"Or something like that." Sam quickly explained the situation, focusing on the important bits: wanted to make a deal and backstab Ba'al, probably up to no good, and oh yeah, _telekinesis_. Dean just grinned and handed over his assault rifle to Sam.

"I got something that'll deal with that," he said, reaching around under his jacket to the holster at the small of his back and pulling out a Colt M1911. "I've been working on this baby for a while now. Took some doing, but I may have figured it out the trick with the original. It's loaded with naquadah-laced bullets."

"Naquadah?" Lorne said, glancing over his shoulder at Dean. "Where the hell did you get that?"

"Sure you want to know?"

"Probably not, no."

"Might be a good idea to take her prisoner," Neill said. "See if we can figure out what the hell she really is."

"We'll see," Lorne said. "But Dean? If she tries anything fancy, blow her away."

"My pleasure."

They reached the pel'tac with no trouble, which is troubling in itself - the place was deathly quiet like a damned ghost ship. They took up positions outside the doors and on a count of three stormed inside. Sure enough Ruby was standing there at the command console and beyond her were the swirling lights of hyperspace. She half-turned with an annoyed expression and froze.

"You," she said quietly, "are not Jaffa."

"No, ma'am, we're not," Lorne replied. "Step away from the controls, please."

"I'm really not sure why I should."

Dean raised his Colt and grinned. "Really?"

Ruby glanced at him for a moment, then looked again more carefully. Her lips tightened and slowly she stepped away and raised her hands.

"Interesting toy you have there," she said. "Sure it works?"

"We can find out if you like," Dean said.

Ruby eyed Sam and Neill. "So this is the gratitude I get for offering to help you guys?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Neill confirmed. "Keep on moving, would you? Thanks." Neill took her place at the command console and waved Sam over. "This thing's pretty simple. You basically touch these areas here and it'll do what you want. I think. So go ahead and try getting us a map or something."

"Or something," Sam said dubiously. He placed his hand where Neill had indicated and sure enough the surface started to show controls. He hesitantly touched the one marked navigation and eventually managed to bring up a galactic map.

"Are we anywhere near a protected planet?" Lorne asked.

"You really don't want to go to one of those," Ruby said.

"I didn't ask you."

"Not the ones I know," Neill answered after a moment. "We're about a day from Cimmeria, maybe three from K'tau."

"Damn." Lorne joined them at the console. "Uh… oh, hey, I know that address. Naquadah mine."

Neill nodded. "Right, with your buddies the Unas. We're practically on top of it."

"We could head there, send someone to the gate, and have the Asgard meet us. They get their gizmo, and we present General Landry with a shiny new ha'tak."

"Quick and easy. I like it." Neill looked at Sam. "Okay, so to alter our course —"

"Yeah, I got it," Sam said, quickly entering the new coordinates. It was coming to him like second nature and if his head weren't still spinning, he would probably be a little bit worried about that. There would be plenty of time for that sort of thing after he got home and slept for a week. "I've ramped us up to top speed. We'll be there in about fifteen minutes."

Neill blinked. "Really?"

"And if I just do this," Sam entered a few more commands, "we can see the internal sensors, and then lock down the compartments where the Jaffa are." There were only a dozen or so aboard, rattling around in a ship meant to carry two or three thousand ground troops and a hundred more crew; Ba'al had been experiencing something of a manpower shortage. Sam sealed the rooms in question after making sure none were near any critical spaces like the engine room, and then closed every other hatch, door, access panel, and emergency bulkhead for good measure.

"Wow." Neill crossed his arms and looked disgruntled. "Jacob always made it seem trickier to use that thing."

"Sam, got sec?" Dean asked. When Sam glanced his way, he went on, "Bottom pocket, third from left — I have some chalk."

"Right," Sam said, already knowing where Dean was going. A minute later he had a devil's trap laid out on the floor and Dean waved Ruby inside.

"How's that work?" Lorne asked, giving it a skeptical look.

"Don't know, don't care," Dean said. "She's not getting out of it, though."

"Oh, please," Ruby said in disgust. "Like your sorry little monkey brains could understand anything about the effects of Platonic metageometry on trans-dimensional entities even if someone tried to explain it to you."

"This monkey isn't the one who has trouble with lines on the ground," Dean retorted.

"Ape." Everyone looked at Sam, who added, "What? Humans are descended from apes, not monkeys."

Dean shook his head. "Right, Doctor Doolittle."

"All I care is that it works," Lorne said, pinching the brow of his nose. "Sam, would you mind coming with me to the hangar? I want to show you the bomber."

Sam frowned but nodded. "Sure thing." He unlocked the rings and the doors they needed, then looked at Neill. "If they Jaffa manage to escape, just hit these controls here. It'll lower the air pressure enough to knock them out."

"Gotcha."

Sam and Lorne headed off, and almost as soon as they were safely out of earshot the major asked, "What's up with the blood?"

"The — oh. Uh. It's all Ba'al's."

"Ah." Lorne put a lot of meaning into one syllable: sudden understanding, sympathy, and a fair amount of concern. "He hurt you guys?"

"He just used the hand device," Sam said. He hesitated, unsure if he should say more, then finally admitted, "Neill sort of snapped and it got… messy. He calmed down, though."

Lorne sighed softly and nodded. "Figured it was something like that. You'll need to talk with him and make sure your stories are straight before we get home and debrief."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm saying you may need to massage the facts a little. Not everyone upstairs would understand. On the teams, sure, and so would anyone who knows his real history, but the last thing we need is for some shrink to start poking at him. Then we'd really get to see Batshit Jack in action." Lorne chuckled and shook his head. "Trust me, after what happened with MacKenzie and Jackson, I'm pretty sure the only people he hates more than snakes are psychiatrists."

Sam screwed up his face. It wouldn't be the first time he'd lied to the authorities, and for a better reason than usual. "Okay, you're the expert."

"Just go with whatever he says, and we'll keep an eye on him. I'll make sure to swing you some downtime, and if worse comes to worse I'll sick Jackson on him."

They came through a large blast door and into a hangar, which was mostly filled with a long, sleek shape. It had a bullet nose and a tubular body with the bottom cut off, just the right shape to fit through the gate, and was maybe sixty feet long. It had a set of stubby wings that had folded out from the main body and cluster of engine ports at the very rear.

"This is a superweapon?" Sam asked, looking it over.

Lorne shrugged. "You can never tell with these sort of people. Come on, the hatch is up this way." There was a cramped cockpit just short of where the ship started to taper, barely big enough for two main chairs at a forward station and some more controls on the rear wall. There was a small chemical camp toilet set up in one corner and Sam wrinkled his nose.

"What?" Lorne said defensively, crossing his arms. "There's no facilities, at least none we could find."

"I didn't say anything," Sam said. He sat down at one chair and looked over the controls and screens. Everything was in Furling except for a small block of Ancient text on one screen. Much to Sam's surprise, he could understand it all.

"I managed to get it to put some stuff up in Ancient," Lorne said, pointing out that screen. "It took some doing, though. We had to put our codes in just to get inside, and then we put them into the center control panel just like the instructions said."

"Right, I see that." Sam cautiously hit a few keys to bring up the self-diagnostics. "Looks like it took some damage to the hyperdrive and the main computer systems at some point. It looks like it keeps trying to carry out the last command it received but can't for some reason."

"You can read Furling?" Lorne asked.

"I guess."

"Hmph. Neat trick. What's all this say, then?"

"Don't look at me, I was pre-law, not engineering. I'm just looking at the big red warning lights." As soon as he said it, a shiver ran through the ship and the air itself seemed to shimmer for a moment. "What was that?"

"We dropped out of hyperspace," Lorne explained. "Come on, I think I saw a cargo ship in the next bay over."

Sam grabbed Lorne's arm. "Uh, Major? You did say that you disarmed this, right?"

"Yeah."

"Because, uh, it just started comparing the local star to a list of targeting data," Sam continued. An ominous hum filled the air. "And I'm pretty sure that screen right there just said something about 'commencing primary ignition'."

"Well, _shit_," Lorne said. He leaned over Sam's shoulder. "You sure?"

"Pretty sure, yeah."

"Okay, let's try the codes again."

They entered their codes and the computer bleeped happily. Then a deep voice said in Furling, "_Strategic Attack Unit 237-URL online. Security codes accepted. Control panel released. Maintenance systems released. Setting weapons array to safe — Error. Error. Error. System malfunction. Unable to comply. Reverting to previous setting._"

"It did that last time," Lorne said. "Then all the controls turned on."

"You know how I said it's damaged? I think that's the broken part."

Lorne closed his eyes. "Fucking Ancients."

"Furlings."

"Whoever the fuck built it. Can you turn it off?"

"I don't know." Sam shook his head. "Listen, you're not going to like this, but we may —"

"Need your friend, yeah." Lorne clicked his radio. "Neill, Dean, we need you down here. Bring the prisoner. The fucking super-advanced aliens managed the fuck everything up. Again."

Two minutes later, the three of them were crowding into the cockpit. It was a tight squeeze that left a very smug-looking Ruby all but sitting in Sam's lap. She stopped being so smug shortly after seeing all the displays.

"Why are you firing the weapons?" she asked.

"I didn't do anything!" Dean immediately said. "It's not my fault!"

"Can you tell us how to stop it?" Lorne asked.

"Hold on." Ruby hit a few keys. "Wow. Well, when you people screw up, you really screw up. The bad news is that this is a class two stellar converter. I didn't realize they had them small enough to fit on a ship this size; they must have been top secret or been developed after my, ah, incarceration."

 

"What's that mean?" Neill asked.

"It means it's going to iron-bomb the star. It'll remotely suck a sizable portion of the core into pocket universe where time runs fast, let it sit for a few billion years, and then turn the field off. You end up with a tiny, cold iron lump and a big open space. The star collapses inwards, bounces, and boom — a small supernova. It's already formed the subspace rift, now it's just building up enough power to actually spin it up to full size and start the fireworks."

"Well, shit," Sam said. "How long until it happens?"

"Mmm, call it four minutes? Then eight for the shockwave to arrive."

Neill grimaced. "And the good news?"

Ruby smiled. "The weapon's reusable, once you replace the power core."

"What?" Sam exclaimed. "That's the good news?"

"It seems good to me."

Lorne shook his head in disgust. "And I ask again: how do we stop it?"

"We don't. There's no way to shut down the converter once it's started. We can't get out of range on sublights in time, and if we enter hyperspace the conflict between the drive and the converter's subspace field will splatter us all across several light-years."

"Sounds good to me." Lorne looked to the rest of them. "Neill, power up the cargo ship next door. Dean, you and I will set up one of those traps in it for Ms. Ruby here. Sam, run to the pel'tac, set the autopilot for a hyperspace jump, and get back here as fast as you can."

"You can not be serious!" Ruby exclaimed. "Do you have any idea how valuable this technology is?"

"Our mission was to destroy it anyways, so I'm not too broken up about it."

"Look, we can share it, your people and me. There's other weapons aboard, some of which you could use against the Ori. And this ha'tak — think of how much good it'd do you if you upgraded it with Asgard technology!"

"There's people on the planet," Neill said. "The miners might be able to get out, but there's probably a couple million Unas down there to."

Ruby let out her breath in a long sigh and her shoulders slumped. "Right. Whatever. You'll regret it when the Ori start leveling your cities."

Sam climbed out of his seat and said to Lorne, "I'll be back as fast as I can. Dean — watch her."

"Oh, I intend to," Dean said.

Sam sprinted for the ring platform, his body finding new ways to ache the entire way, and a minute later he was back on the pel'tac. He punched in the commands into the autopilot and set it for remote activation, not wanting to give it countdown for fear of setting it too short or too long. He was almost back out the door when he remembered the Jaffa trapped throughout the ship. He hesitated, then went back to the controls, unsealed the doors, and entered the sequence to sound the abandon ship alarm. It was all he could do for them, that and hope some of them would take heed and make it to an escape pod. He saw no one as he ran back to the hangar and on along to the next bay, where a squat cargo ship was waiting. The rest of the team was already inside.

"We're good!" he shouted, sealing the door behind him.

"Okay," Neill was saying at the pilot's station. "I remember how to do this. Cargo ships are easy. I just grab this globe thing and —"

"Door!" Dean said.

"Oh, yeah, that'd be a good idea. Get that, Sam."

Sam dropped into the co-pilot's seat, triggering the door controls. Then he called up the remote access for the mothership's autopilot and held his finger over the button to send the command.

"And we're moving," Neill said as they shot clear of the hangar as fast as the little ship's engines would take them. Sam started to bring his finger down, thought better of it, raised the shields, and then sent the command. For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the ship bucked hard and Sam was almost tossed from his seat for a second time that day. Dean and Lorne were less lucky and went flying, which just went to show that supposedly advanced aliens were complete fucking idiots who couldn't even install extra chairs or safety restraints on their spaceships.

"Everyone okay?" Neill called.

"Ow," Lorne said. "I'm pretty sure I've got some interesting bruises, but I'm fine."

"Same here," Dean added. "I wasn't using my head anyways."

"Great," Neill said.

"I'm fine too," Ruby muttered, "not that any of you care."

"Oh, we care, lady," Dean said. "I bet the boys at Area 51 will care a whole lot, too."

"I'm gonna set us down near the gate," Neill said. "ETA about a minute. Major, you might want to get on the radio and let 'em know we're coming."

"I'll get right on that, as soon as I figure out where the hell my radio went," Lorne replied. "Honestly, I hate these things so much. I never lost the ones we used in Atlantis."

A few minutes later they were safely on the ground, watching a platoon of marines and SF cautiously approach the ship through the windows. They had been politely instructed to stay where they were until their identities could be verified. For some reason, the local commander was a bit upset about the gigantic fireball in his sky and their unexpected arrival.

"Well, this was thrilling, guys," Ruby said suddenly. "But I think I'll be going now."

"You're not going anywhere," Sam said. "I have way, way too many questions I need answered."

"Maybe next time," she replied. She pointed downward and Sam saw a tiny scuff mark in the devil's trap around her, left there by either Lorne or Dean when they were tossed around. Across the compartment Dean's eyes widened and he went for the Colt, but it was already too late.

"See you around, Sam," she said. An oily black cloud seemed to ooze out of her body and it swiftly flowed right through the ceiling. The host's eyes flashed gold for a moment, then it fell dead to the floor.

"Well, shit," Dean said, slamming his fist against the wall.

Neill scratched his head. "No bomber, no ha'tak, no prisoner. Yeah, this is going to be a fun debriefing."


	7. In Which the Fellowship Ventures Forth Once More

Post-mission activities were post-mission activities, even if that mission involved being captured and almost blowing up a star. The main differences were a run through something called a za'tarc detector, to make sure they weren't secretly some sort of programmed assassin, and mandatory brain scans following exposure to the sarcophagus and the ribbon device. Not everyone was Daniel Jackson, who rumor said had been exposed to the device so often it only tickled: three people had experienced aneurysms within a week of being tortured with one. They checked out in both, although Sam's scan showed more pretty colors than usual. He made a note to himself that, in addition to sleeping for a month, he would have to avoid Bill Lee like the plague if he wanted to do anything but sit in a chair hooked up to monitors.

Thor arrived without any of his pals and, after shining his light at them again, pronounced himself satisfied with what they had done. The debriefing with Landry went less smoothly. What was weird was that, for a moment when they first returned, Sam had almost thought Landry had looked almost relieved to see them. Sam had seen the photos from the UAV sent when they'd failed to check in - mile after mile of melted and twisted earth, with the gate itself laying flat on the ground. When they got out of the infirmary and their private conference with Supreme Commander Pantsless, Landry did exactly what Sam's dad had done about every other week for Sam's whole life: he stopped being relieved and started to get angry, because God knew that a man could never be worried about something.

Landry took a moment to thank them for taking out a Ba'al and more or less completing their mission, and then it went downhill from there. They had let the Ruby escape, never mind that they didn't even know what she or the other the things they had thought were 'ascend-o-snakes' had been. Their meddling with alien technology had almost vaporized a critical naquadah mine and countless innocents. They had blown up their captured ha'tak rather than find some other way to deal with the situation.

"Oh, come on," Neill exclaimed, breaking the string of 'yes sir' and 'no sir' that had been all anyone had been saying. "We've captured a three of the damn things and every single one has gotten blown up."

"SG-1 usually had a good reason for doing so, and at least occasionally do something useful," Landry retorted. "You people, on the other hand, have done little more than make every piece of technology you come across explode. Quite frankly, I'm tired of it."

"Sir, I assure you," Lorne said. Landry cut him off.

"Major, I have news that I think is going to please us both. You're going back to Atlantis. Colonel Sheppard —" and just when Sam thought Landry couldn't get angrier, his face turned a much more volcanic shade of red "— and his team recaptured the city after a Replicator attack. You have a battalion to reassemble. Have fun."

Lorne sat up straight, an excited gleam in his eyes. "Yes, sir!"

"So… what about the team?" Dean asked cautiously.

"Please feel free to consider a transfer to another galaxy," Landry said. "Hell, it doesn't even have to be Pegasus, as long as it's somewhere I don't have to lay eyes on you. Otherwise, I hear there's some open spots at the Zeta site."

Sam, Dean, and Neill all winced as one. Zeta was better known as Hoth and existed only because it had a small Ancient outpost and a trinium mine.

"We'll think about it," Neill said flatly.

"You do that. Dismissed."

Landry continued to sit and glare at them as they meekly filed out. Sam was sure — well, reasonably sure — that once the general cooled down he might decide that exiling them to Zeta was a bit harsh. He was also sure that the team as they knew it was finished.

"I'm going home," Lorne said to himself. Then he frowned and repeated, "We're going home. Oh, Christ. People are scatted across the entire planet. This is a mess."

"Uh. Congratulations?" Neill said.

"Oh." Lorne stopped and his frown deepened. "Look, guys, I'm sorry, but when it comes right down to it, there's no contest here. You can come with me if you want, or not. I won't hold it against you."

Dean crossed his arms and scowled. "You're leaving and _you_ won't hold it against _us_."

"That's… not how I meant it," Lorne said slowly.

"Really."

Sam had lived this conversation once already and had no desire to repeat it now. Especially not before getting his year of sleep. He put his hand on Dean's shoulder and said, "Dude, he was only here in the first place because he couldn't be there. Lay off."

"That's rich, coming from you," Dean said. He shrugged Sam's hand off. "This has been a shitty enough day already. I wanna head home and get a drink."

"Go get changed, I'll be there in a minute," Sam said.

"Sure." Dean stalked down the corridor. Sam winced and Lorne looked forlorn.

"I really didn't intend to say it that way," Lorne said.

"He's just being a big baby," Sam said with a roll of his eyes. "He'll get over it."

"He's right about one thing: I need a drink. I've been up for over a day, I think I've earned one." Lorne shook his head. "You guys make whatever decision you want. You know where to find me - just don't call me before nine tomorrow if you have some horrible crisis. Bother SG-1 or something."

"Take care," Sam said. Once the major was gone he glanced at Neill. "I guess I'll see you around tomorrow."

"Hold up a second," Neill said. He looked up and down the hall, then dragged Sam into the nearest storage closet. "We need to talk."

"Um." Sam tried to think of a way to phrase he next sentence politely. "Is this really the time for this?"

"Huh?" Neill looked at him blankly. "Yeah, it is. I just wanted to say I was sorry about nearly screwing us over earlier."

"Oh. No, don't worry about it. It's nothing."

"Yeah, you say that, but it doesn't change the fact that I screwed up." When Sam opened his mouth, Neill held up his hand. "Eh! I'm not arguing about it. I just wanted to say that you might seriously want to consider going to Atlantis. There's no way to be sure the other Ba'al's don't know about you, and even if not they might be a bit peeved right now."

Sam nodded slowly, thinking it over. "I'll have to talk Dean into it."

"It's just a thought. I think I'll be going. I wanted back in the game, but honestly, I think I've run into about as much of my past as I care to. Another galaxy sounds like a nice change of pace."

"I hear that." Sam had done the same in going to Stanford, although hopefully Neill would have better luck with his escape attempt. It seemed likely. He wasn't looking to get a 'normal' life, just a place where he wasn't surrounded by familiar faces and triggers. "I guess this means no, ah, fishing trip?"

"It would have been too cold anyways." Neill grinned and chuckled. "Honestly? I was surprised you said yes. I took me years just to get Teal'c to the cabin once, and I never managed it again."

Sam's jaw dropped. "Wait, Teal'c?"

"Yeah. I had to wait until Daniel lost his memory to do it with him, although supposedly the Old Fart got the entire team at once." Neill finally noticed Sam's astonished expression. "What?"

"I. You…" Sam had to stop and take a moment to get his footing. "You mean the rumors about SG-1 are all true?"

"Which rumors?" Neill asked suspiciously.

"That you were all, you know," Sam made a motion with his hand, and when Neill continued to stare blankly, he blurted, "Orgies!"

"_What?_ Oh, God, no!" Neill shook his head vigorously and made a warding motion with his hands. "No, no, no! I mean, okay, I had a thing for Daniel, and Carter for a while, and a couple times aliens tried to make us — but no, I never acted on it! Where the hell did you get that idea?"

Sam tried to see if his faulty brain powers would let him self-immolate; when that failed he said, "I thought fishing was just your weird euphemistic way of asking me on a date."

"It wasn't a euphemism, it was asking you to go fishing. You're young enough to be my son!"

"Oh, come on, you can't be telling none of the guys you've hooked up with were near my age," Sam said, his embarrassment sliding into disbelief.

"That's different. I didn't know any of them."

"And you're the one who keeps telling people we're sleeping together," Sam pointed out.

"Cover stories to deal with problems." Neill looked away with a disgruntled frown.

"Uh huh…"

"Okay, so maybe you had reason to interpret things that way," Neill allowed after a moment. "Look, I can not deal with this right now."

"Sure, right, sorry," Sam said. He kicked himself for screwing the situation up so badly. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Yeah, see ya."

Sam left the closet - and yeah, there was another misinterpretation there - and headed for the locker room. Dean was already changed and waited silently while Sam got into his own civvies. The silence continued on the way home and through the stop off at the Burger King halfway between the Mountain and their apartment, until Sam started talking about Dean's new toy. That got him talking again, about how he'd taken apart the original kill-anything Colt and figured out how it worked, just in case he ever found something else that wouldn't stay dead like it should. That lasted until they were finished eating.

"You want to go, don't you?" Dean said, abruptly changing the subject.

"It's Atlantis," Sam said, thinking it self-explanatory. "You have to admit, it'd be pretty cool."

"Suppose so."

"Something wrong?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure I'm cut for this military crap. If Landry didn't have stars and bunch of SFs, I'd have clocked him one."

"Sheppard's pretty different, and the expedition's civilian-lead."

"And all this exploration stuff isn't exactly the same as what I expected to be doing — killing things, saving people. The family business. We've barely done more than run around some empty forests."

"They have space vampires in Pegasus. Fewer teams, too, so we'd see more action."

"It's not the same," Dean muttered.

Sam sighed, closed his eyes, and felt the last of his patience give out. "Dean?"

"Sam?"

"I died about twelve hours ago and then I got to start my day off by having my brain scrambled by a snake," Sam growled. "Now stop being passive-aggressive and tell me what your problem is, or I swear I am going to kick your ass."

"Exactly! You died, that's the problem, Sam!" Dean shouted. "This was supposed to be a safe gig. We finally kill the sumbitch that's been fucking with our family for twenty-five years, we find a respectable job where you can stay in one place like you always wanted, and it takes you six weeks to get yourself killed and make one of the biggest threats in the galaxy interested in you! And now you want to run off to another galaxy? Excuse me if I'm feeling a bit pessimistic here."

Sam's shoulders slumped and his growing annoyance flowed away as quickly as it had come. "I guess I didn't think about it like that."

"Maybe you should have," Dean returned, but it was half-hearted and tired from more than just physical exhaustion.

"If you want to stay, then —"

"Oh, don't give me that crap. If you're going, I'm going. Same as always."

"I was actually going to say I could stay, even if it means getting exiled to Hoth," Sam finished.

"Oh." Dean looked a bit disgruntled at that, as if he'd been anticipating and even hoping for an argument. He didn't say anything for a while, then said, "Space vampires, you said?"

"Yeah. A whole galaxy full," Sam confirmed.

"Hmm." Dean shrugged. "Okay, whatever. There had better be hot chicks there, too. That's all I'll say."

Sam rolled his eyes, relief mixed with disbelief. "I'm sure there's plenty of women, Dean." He didn't mention that he was pretty sure there were also a lot more men.

"Well, good. I'll call Bobby in the morning, tell him we'll need him to store the Impala for a while."

"It is morning on this planet. Well, this time zone on this planet."

Dean stood and threw up his hands, then stalked away to his bedroom while muttering, "I swear to God, I do not know why I put up with him."

Sam made it to his own bed a short time later. He set his alarm to wake him early that evening in the possibly-vain hope of getting his circadian rhythm back on. When it went off, he got up, stumbled about for long enough to wolf down an entire large pizza, and dropped back into bed. He didn't get up again until noon the next day.

They spent the next week packing and getting ready to leave the planet. It was amazing how much crap two people could accumulate in less than two months of living in an apartment: kitchenware, DVDs, electronics, a vacuum cleaner, and all the other dozens of things they had never needed while living out of a car and hotel rooms. Some of it was going with them, with Dean already planning out how to smuggle anything that didn't fit in the personal baggage allotment and couldn't be called necessary work gear; most was either going to friends or charity. There were a few minutes there when Sam thought Dean might try to find some way to get to Impala onto the _Daedalus_, but eventually he parted company with it after one last longing look.

They barely saw hide or hair of their teammates. Neill was just as busy packing his own life up, while Lorne was organizing the crash-reassembly of more than two hundred servicemembers from a dozen countries, plus the logistics of moving all _four_ hundred-odd expedition members to the city using just minivan-sized jumpers. When their slot in the schedule came up, they took their carry-on bags and crowded aboard one of the little ships. Two wormholes later they were in another galaxy.

"Keep it moving, please!" someone was shouting. "Everyone this way! Please do not fall through the door in the floor, it'll mess up the schedule something awful. Remember to check room assignments, we've moved everyone around. Do a radio check, too, and keep tuned to C1 for announcements. New people — find a guide, if you get lost and we have to retrieve you from a pier you will be sorry."

Parrish turned out to be waiting for them and got them to their quarters: their separate quarters, that was, and while Dean was still next door it was nice to actually have a wall to put between them if he ever wanted to. The apartment Sam had been given was larger than the one they had just vacated on Earth, and even had a balcony and a view of the sea. After dumping his bags Sam stepped outside to take a look around. It was a bright and sunny day and a warm, salty breeze was coming off the ocean. Overhead a pair of jumpers chased each other across the sky.

"Howdy, neighbor," Neill called from the next balcony over.

Sam gave him a wave. "Hey. Cool, huh?"

"I'll say. I can't wait until they let us move around and explore a little." Neill pointed upwards at the jumpers. "And I definitely want to get my hands on one of those."

"You know, I never thought about it, but learning to fly would be pretty cool," Sam admitted. "They'd probably be useful for running away quickly, too."

"Figures we'd get spaceships once my knees worked right again." Neill nodded at the ocean below them. "Bet there's good deep-sea fishing."

Sam frowned. "Is that fishing-fishing, or euphemism-fishing?"

Neill shrugged non-nonchalantly. "Could be both. Guess we'll just have to see what happens."

"Suppose so," Sam said, nodding while small smile spread onto his face. "It can't possibly go worse than anything else lately, could it?"

"Watch your mouth. That sort of talk's dangerous."

"Oh, come on. Nothing's going to happen just because I said that. It'll be nice and quiet."

Of course, a week later everyone started seeing ghosts, killer psychic space whales surrounded the city, and the sun nearly exploded, but hell, that just made things interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be sure to go over to **[Sadiane's art post](http://sadiane.livejournal.com/68018.html)** to see the art created for this fic.


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